It's Fine By Me (If You Never Leave)
by Skalidra
Summary: In the middle of a battle, Jason revealed to Roy that he'd never been on a real date. So when Valentine's Day rolls around, Roy takes it as the opportunity to fix that absolutely terrible fact. He's got everything planned out, and all Jason has to do is go along with the ride. - Earth-3 connected universe, Jason Todd/Roy Harper.
1. Chapter 1

**This is part of a larger continuity of stories. Please consult my profile for the master reading list if you want to read them in order.**

So! Way back in February, I said I was going to write something in honor of Valentine's Day. Well, I finally finished it just a couple weeks ago. It became an absolute behemoth of a thing, and it became amazing, and this huge character study, and... Well, the rest would be spoilers. XD

 **Warnings** for this first chapter are: Open relationships, semi-public sexual acts, handjobs, dirty talk, and some mentions/references to masochism.

So, with no further ado, this is a follow-up piece of Jason and Roy's story, after 'Never Have I Ever'. The famed _first date_.

* * *

"I feel ridiculous," I grumble, glaring out the window of the limo and trying not to fidget at the too tight grip of the damn black suit jacket's sleeves or the uncomfortable sensation of the tucked in shirt. I feel _so_ dumb. "The news is going to swarm you and you're going to have a really pissed off looking date, you know that right? There's going to be so much speculation; so many headlines. We shouldn't have done this in Star City."

Roy's ridiculous need to take me out on a date aside — and on Valentine's day? _Really?_ — it's a bad idea to be doing this in his hometown. He's famous, and maybe it's an ingrained Owl thing but I hate paparazzi and everything to do with them, and I _really_ hate being scrutinized by anyone. At all. Not even Dick gets to study me as closely as the news always does.

" _That's_ what you're worried about?" Roy asks, shifting on the seat next to me where he's got his right arm around my shoulders, and my arm hooked around his waist. It _is_ nice to see him in something that isn't the Arsenal uniform, I admit. Even if that something is the same too-fancy suit and tie that I've got on because Dick's an _ass_ and Tim — the little fucking _bastard_ — backed him up.

'Have to wear suits' my ass. Fuck them both.

"I'm not _worried_ ," I tell him flatly, still staring out the window, and I can just barely see it out of the corner of my eye so I don't flinch when his lips press against the side of my neck. I close my eyes for a second, enjoying the touch even if I'm not real comfortable at the moment. "I don't like suits," I start, and then grudgingly admit, "and I don't like being _judged_. I go out with you here and I'm going to get stripped and picked apart by the news."

Roy presses a second kiss to my skin, and then slowly pulls away. He gives me time to not let him go, if I don't want to, but I'm not that damn clingy so I just look over at him instead. Part of me wants to ask why he pulled away, or why he's _looking_ at me the way he is, but I grit my teeth and swallow the words down. It's not like I own Roy, and I _damn_ well don't get to tell him what he can or can't do. That'd be hypocritical and fucked up of me, and we're just enjoying each other anyway. There are no official words here.

But I'm not sure I'd say no if he suggested using one.

"Come on," he says with a smile, "turn towards me." I raise an eyebrow, and his smile turns into what's almost a grin. "Humor me." I snort, hesitate, but ultimately do what he wants me to. I turn my body on the limo's seat — at least it's comfortable — to match the angle of my head, until I'm mostly tilted towards Roy.

He lifts his hands, holding my gaze as he reaches for my neck, moving _slowly_ and maybe it should irritate me that he's treating me like a live bomb but, well, he's not wrong. I appreciate him being careful, and I _seriously_ appreciate that he always seems to know the things I'll be questionable about allowing. Dick shoves against warning lines and then backs off when he starts to push towards the actual cliff, while Roy eases up to warning lines about as cautiously as if he were actually handling a bomb, and backs off the second I'm even a little bit uncomfortable. It's _nice_ to have someone actually give that much of a fuck about my comfort zone.

His hands touch my throat — I tense a little bit on automatic but don't strike out at him — and easily find the knot of the tie around it. It's already loose, because I couldn't fucking stand the pressure around my neck when Dick cheerfully dressed me up — I snarled at him the whole time — and I nearly decked him, but Roy pulls it even looser and then off of me completely. I watch him, not totally understanding, as he drops it on the floor of the limo. He's still holding my gaze as he unbuttons the first three buttons at the top of my formal white shirt, and then slides his hands back and hooks them at the collar of the suit jacket, pushing it off my shoulders.

"All the way off," he says, teasingly commanding, and I'll deny it to anyone who asks but I really like the way his hands clasp down on my shoulders and his thumbs rub circles into my collarbone as I pull my arms back to tug the jacket off my arms. It's a comforting touch, and his hands are warm, solid, _strong_ in a way most people wouldn't see him as. Even I tend to forget that though Roy might not be an Owl, and he might swoon, sigh, and play the fool, he's talented and _powerful_ under all that.

The smile he gives me when the jacket drops is even warmer than his hands, and he slides his hands down my chest — which interests me a bit, but I hold back the nearly instant urge to kiss him because he's _going_ somewhere with this — and grips the bottom, tugging the tucked edge out. His gaze finally drops from mine as his hands move to my left arm, unbuttoning the cuff of the sleeve and rolling it up my arm, past my elbow. He repeats it on the other arm, and then leans up and kisses me. My eyes close automatically, his fingers lingering on the inside of my right elbow, and to my surprise the kiss doesn't have the passion I'd expect from someone who practically just halfway undressed me. It's… soft.

He pulls back just a bit, hands leaving my arm to gently touch my sides through the shirt, and he's close enough I don't open my eyes as he breathes out in a pleased hum and then quietly says into the space between us, "Feel better, Jaybird?"

I do open my eyes at that, confused for a second before I link things back to what I said. I— I said I didn't like suits. I huff out a breath of amusement, reaching forward to run my right hand down his arm and leaning in to rest my forehead against his. "Yeah, actually."

I think — and I could be wrong but I like to _think_ I've got a decent grasp of my own issues — that the tightness of the sleeves, collar, and tie were too much. I'm not much for being contained anymore, at least by things that aren't familiar to me. The tightness of my leather jacket across my shoulders is one thing, but pressure around my wrists that isn't something I immediately recognize? Not such a great idea.

Roy is…

Not knowing how to end that thought — an idiot, brilliant, _kind_ , thoughtful, mine — I settle for pulling back just a bit to look at him, to be able to really see his eyes. "You don't mind being seen with someone scruffy as me?"

Roy's grin is instant, and somewhere between playful and the look Dick gets when he's about to play a prank on someone. Anticipatory, that's it. "Are you kidding?" he says, hands firming up a bit to stroke up my sides. "I like you better this way. Dashing as a suit makes you look, it's not really _you_ , Jaybird." Something in me I don't want to look at too closely relaxes, and I lean the inch or so down — I'm taller, but my height is more in my legs than my torso — to kiss him again. He meets me, and _there's_ the start of the passion I was thinking about earlier.

I raise my hands to slide into his hair, firmly gripping handfuls of it and appreciating the sharp inhalation and the tiny noise he makes into my mouth, his hands flexing against my ribs. I shift closer to him, and move my hands so my left is cradling his skull, leaving my right free to slide down his back and find the curve of his ass. Alright, so the black slacks he's wearing _do_ look really good on him, even if they're never going to be the equal of the red leather of Arsenal. This is more dressed down — or up, I guess; whatever — and it's nice to be able to touch him without layers of padding in between.

He makes another small noise, and his right hand shifts to push lightly against the front of my chest as he pulls back just a bit. I can feel the tiny shudder of his shoulders, see the restraint in his expression as he swallows and finally opens his eyes.

"Do _you_ mind, Jaybird?" he asks, and I squeeze his ass — it's under my hand, how could I _not?_ — and watch him arch a bit, muscles tensing under my grip.

"Mind what?" I ask, and I _might_ use the low, rumbling voice that I know he _really_ likes.

His hands clench in my shirt, and he takes in a slightly deeper than normal breath in some kind of attempt to steady, or restrain himself, or something. It's tempting to make him lose it, but I hold back. Fun as it would be to fuck Roy in the back of a limo in his hometown, he's got plans for tonight, apparently. I'm not going to disrupt them, but it's still nice to see him affected by nothing more than a kiss, a tone of voice, and a single grope.

He swallows one last time, and then meets my eyes. "Me being seen out with you when you're not dressed up."

I startle a little bit, and I can see the instant reaction in his eyes to _my_ reaction, but he doesn't say anything. He stays silent, hands against my sides, and lets me think about it. It takes a bit of time, but he just _waits_. "A little bit," I admit, not quite meeting his eyes.

It's not that I think Roy cares if he's seen with somebody obviously not a socialite by nature, or even that I think he cares if he's seen with someone who isn't elegant, and _classy_ , and all those other words that mean 'stuck up as _hell_ ,' but I just… He's Star City's golden boy, like Dick is Gotham's, and I know what that means. _Everything_ he does is going to get picked apart and dissected for any kind of spin that can be put on it, and that includes me. I don't want to be the mystery date who's clearly not up to par. I _hate_ people trying to make me feel like I'm not good enough.

Roy stays quiet and still for a moment, and then starts to move. I watch, not really comprehending but not minding, as he grips my shirt, swings a leg up and over mine, and settles himself firmly across my lap before letting go of my shirt and giving me a warm grin. He curls down, laying a gentle kiss to the slice of my neck that's exposed by the undone buttons of my shirt, and then straightens back up while he casually rests his hands on my sides again.

"Then go ahead, Jason," he offers, still with that grin. "Start taking pieces off; however I need to be dressed to make you comfortable."

I blink, staring at him. "Are you serious?" I ask, kinda incredulous but that's totally my right. He's got to be kidding; there's no way someone else is going to voluntarily lower themselves down and look as casual as I feel comfortable. Especially not a golden boy of the media.

I mean, Roy doesn't exactly have the same reputation as Dick — perfect, charming, never involved in any kind of scandal, and all that nonsense — and he's definitely known for being in trouble a fair amount, but he's still a darling of the media. The same way that Oliver Queen used to be, before he started actually committing to his supposed 'job' and stopped being Star City's party kid. I haven't really looked up Roy's exploits, honestly, but I can imagine the kind of things he's been caught doing. I really don't know how much of that is for show.

Why would he ever compromise his image for me?

"Of course I'm serious." Roy's grin fades to a small smile, and he leans in to press another of those gentle kisses to my lips for a second. "You're way more important than the paparazzi's opinion of me, Jason, and why should I care what the media thinks of my taste? It's _fantastic_ , thank you very much." There's that grin again. "I'd rather they think I couldn't bother to get dressed all the way than go out there and make you uncomfortable, Jaybird."

I swallow, staring at him, until he kisses me again with a little more heat. His knees press into the sides of my hips, and I bite back a groan at the feeling of the muscles in his thighs contracting. It's enough to stop me thinking about his words, and stop the loop running on repeat in my head that Roy thinks _I'm_ more important than his public image. He _really_ thinks that me being uncomfortable is a worse thing than him getting some uncomplimentary media coverage, and that's just… What the _hell?_ I don't know anyone that puts my comfort over their public image. Not anyone.

"So," I start, when we part for a second, not opening my eyes and holding him close, _keeping_ him close, "what if I just strip you down to boxers and socks?" I force my voice to be teasing, but the question tightens my throat all the same. It's not… I wouldn't. But would he _let_ me, if I wanted to? If I actually wanted to strip him down that far would he go out in public anyway? They wouldn't let us in anywhere but…

Would he do it?

Roy laughs, bright but just between us, and his lips find mine for the smallest of touches. I fight back a shiver. "Then there'll be a lot of scandalized people and Oliver will probably have to put me on house arrest for a while to calm them down. I'd love to see the kinds of headlines they put on _that_ story."

I pull him back away from me, opening my eyes and finding his. I study the look in them, trying to figure out how serious he's being, if he's _honestly_ that alright with it. He looks amused more than anything, and the small grin twisting his mouth shows the same thing. "You'd let me do that?" I ask, quietly, and Roy watches me for a second — there are so many _emotions_ and thoughts that flicker across his face that I can't read most of it — before he gives a huff of amusement and slides a hand up my chest to touch the skin at my collar.

"Well, _you know_ ," my heart sinks just a little bit, "I'd like to keep my pants, or shirt, or at least have _you_ right there next to me in underwear. _Ideally_." His grin fades away, and he's completely, _totally_ serious when he flattens his hand against my chest and says, "Yes, Jason. If it would make you comfortable then of _course_ , sure."

He makes a sharply startled sound when I yank him towards me, sealing our mouths together and linking my arm around his waist to pull him closer, but doesn't struggle. In fact after that first second he eases into me, meeting my hunger with his own and clenching his hands in my shirt to do his own fair share of pulling me towards him. His thighs clench again, and I can feel the muscles in his back shift as he arches forward into me, his hands flexing like he _wants_ to touch but is holding back instead.

I don't say it, the words stick in my throat and I'm not sure I'll _ever_ get them past that conditioned block, but I try and convey how much I appreciate Roy through my touch. He's _fucking_ incredible sometimes, and I don't— _Christ_ I don't deserve someone like him but damn the world I'm going to cling anyway. We're not official, he's not getting anything out of this but good sex and someone a little bit more invested in watching his back than anyone else, but he still treats me like we're actually _together_. Like, for some reason, he doesn't mind caring for me and giving me all of these things, and not getting anything back.

Like he's just doing all of this because he wants to. I don't understand it but, well, _damn_ the reasons. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.

I just wish I could break down my own pride and paranoia enough to say thanks, or tell him how what he does for me, how he _treats_ me, makes me feel wanted, and that's _fucking_ amazing. Dick is incredible, and he's gorgeous, and I'm his so thoroughly I don't think I'll ever question that, but he doesn't make me feel wanted the same way that Roy does. With Dick it's all passion and lust, all the time, and there's family loyalty there but once the sex is done we're just family again. I can be there, or not be there, and he won't mind either way. If I want to get up and leave the second I can, to sleep in my own room or go off to work somewhere, he won't say a word to stop me.

But even when sex is finished between Roy and me, he still behaves like he wants me around. I don't know what the difference is between Dick's touch and Roy's, but there's _something_. When I'm in a bed with Roy, and I _should_ feel that urge to get up and move, shower, be somewhere that I'm not open and vulnerable, I just _don't_. It's never there. I'm comfortable lying in a bed, listening to him breathe, and laugh, and say all kinds of things that don't relate, or have any context, or are just plain old _ridiculous_. And I can answer, or not, and he's warm and trusting and just _there_.

Maybe it's that I don't see Roy as a threat. Never have.

Roy makes a regretful sound and pushes just a bit away from me, shuddering. "We've got plans," he reminds me, in a breath that screams that he'd like to just forget the plans, and I smirk.

"We don't _have_ to," I counter, letting go of my grip in his hair to rub along the back of his neck and down his spine instead. He shudders again, but pushes me a little more firmly away from him.

"No, first date, _important_. I made reservations and _plans_ , Jaybird." His tone is a little more steady now, and his eyes meet mine as he opens them and tries to look serious. The smile tugging at his mouth ruins the effect. "There's sex scheduled for later, promise. But in a _bed_ , with the right _mood_."

He's so _ridiculous_ that I can't help the laugh that climbs its way out of my chest, and it only persists when he gives a scowl that I think is meant to be threatening but there's still that _smile_ trying to curl his lips. It feels _good_ , and when that smile breaks free and the fake scowl melts away my breath catches in my throat for a second as the laugh fades, because god, Roy is _amazing_. How the hell has he settled for just having friends-with-benefits relationships with an alien bitch of a princess and _me_ , of all people? Why the hell hasn't someone good enough snatched him up yet?

"You laughing at me, Jaybird?" he says, teasing, and I snort and let my arms uncurl from his waist to rest my hands on his hips instead.

"Always." Anyone else, I'm _sure_ , would be offended and pull away, but Roy only smiles a little wider and releases his grip in my shirt to reach for my hands instead.

"Good." His fingers lace with mine, and he pulls my hands up and places them in the center of his chest, at the closed button of his suit jacket. "Whatever makes you comfortable, Jason," he says quietly, holding my hands there even as he leans in and gently presses a kiss to the side of my jaw, lingering for a moment before he lets go and lowers his head to rest against my shoulder.

I swallow, concentrate on breathing steadily for a second, and then decide to take him at his word. Roy hasn't ever _lied_ to me as far as I know, why would he start now? If he says that I can make him look as casual as I want to then he _means_ it. He even said so. He just… I'll take him at his word.

Years of undressing myself — in suits designed to be difficult to take off — makes it easy to flick the button through its hole without looking, and Roy shifts to let me trail my hands up his shirt and push the black jacket off his shoulders. I pull it off his arms and let it drop to the floor of the limo, and then raise my hands back up to the equally black tie at his throat. A dangerous, buried part of me — the leftovers of the Lazarus Pit's madness — whispers how easy it would be to tighten that tie and _hurt_ him, but I ignore it and keep my hands careful, gentle, as I pull it loose and discard it. I _won't_ hurt Roy. I _won't_.

From there my hands go back to his throat, to the buttons of the green shirt that's a few shades darker than his eyes, and do the same thing that he did for me, unbuttoning the first three to leave a slice of his skin visible where it falls open. Lastly, I lower my hands to find his wrists, and carefully undo the buttons holding each cuff closed. I don't roll the sleeves back, or untuck his shirt, or any of that. He doesn't have to be as casual as me, he _shouldn't_ be as casual as me, but I just didn't want… Looking like I do and being dressed up in a full suit is a big difference, and I don't want people judging me or looking down on him because of that.

I press my mouth to the side of his throat — ignoring the possessive urge to take his skin between my teeth and leave a mark, something to shout 'this is _mine_ ' and warn everyone else off — and lace my fingers back between his. He squeezes my hands, and I close my eyes and just breathe into his skin. He smells good, some kind of cologne that I can't pick the scents out of, but like all of us he's got those background scents that cling to his skin. Smoke and sweat, mostly. Roy's a ranged fighter, he doesn't get the same exposure to blood that most of us do.

"You don't have to stop," Roy offers, not moving or pulling his head away from my shoulder to speak, and there's a warm swell in my chest. I squeeze his hands briefly to try and give some kind of tell, but I've got no idea if he actually picks up on it. I'm never quite sure when Roy understands my body language and silent communication, and when he doesn't.

"Thought you wanted to keep your shirt," I respond instead, and I can feel his mouth curl into a smile even through the relatively thin fabric of my shirt.

" _Prefer_ to," he corrects.

I shake my head a bit and pull away from his neck. "Well you're buried in my shoulder, it's not like I can actually _see_ what you look like. Straighten up." I can feel him smother laughter, and when he obeys and sits up he's grinning, arching just a little bit as he tosses his head and tilts it to make his hair fall to the right and leave his neck bare. Which I have definitely commented on liking before, so he at least pays attention _sometimes_.

I make a show of studying the fall of his hair, and the inward angle to his shirt that shows off the fact that underneath those clothes Roy's actually pretty much all muscle. He's not an Owl, and he's not the match for the powerhouses like Kon-El, but he's more like Dick's build or mine. Good muscle, and he's not _thin_ like Tim is, he's just focused on and built for speed as opposed to raw strength. Whoever dressed him or bought him clothes — I'm not crazy enough to think that Roy did it himself — knew what they were doing; the shirt definitely shows his build off, and it's a good color on him.

He actually looks _really_ good halfway-formal like this.

"Nah," I say, forcing my tone to be casual in a way I don't feel, "I think you're probably fine like this."

There's something warm in his eyes and he pulls my left hand up to press a kiss to our interlaced fingers. "Glad I pass muster," he teases, and then glances sideways out of the window. "We're almost there."

"Are you actually going to tell me what the plans are?" He grins a little wider, and presses another kiss to my knuckles.

"I can, if you want me to, but I'd like it to be a surprise." His grin gets a little smaller, more emotions flickering across his face, and then he quietly asks, "Can you trust me to make sure you're comfortable, Jason? All you'll ever have to do is say something if you don't like it."

I swallow, holding his gaze, and come to the startling realization that, "Yes. I can." I didn't think that I had enough left in me to trust anyone that isn't family, and even most of my family I don't really _trust_. I mean, I believe that Tim and Damian will protect me if they need to, because family loyalty is everything, but really trust them? I'm pretty sure they'll never be blatantly hostile, that's about the best I can do. I trust Bruce, generally, and Dick pretty much always, and Alfred… I'll always trust Alfred with everything I am.

I didn't think I could do that for anyone else, but I really _do_ trust Roy to stick to my comfort levels. When I think about the rest of this night, and the thought that Roy's got plans that he hasn't told me, there _should_ be wariness and maybe even fear, but there just _isn't_. I haven't got the slightest concern that he's planning to kill me, or hurt me, or even that he might do something I don't like or want.

Roy's eyes widen a little bit, and then he gives a smile that's so warm and open it makes my chest _ache_ , and leans in to kiss me. "Thank you," he breathes against my lips, and I swallow and nod. "All you _ever_ have to say is 'no,' promise."

"Reserve my rights." It sounds like a joke, because I _can't_ sound serious saying that and still hold myself together under his eyes, but he only brushes his lips against mine and pulls back.

"Always," he says with a smile, and then the limo is slowing, pulling sideways to a curb, and he grins and starts to shift off my lap. "He might be _my_ driver but I don't think he's ready to see me straddle a guy," he jokes, not letting go of my hands until he absolutely has to break the connection to pull any further back. "You ready to start the night, Jaybird?"

I roll my eyes, taking in a slightly deeper breath. "Yeah, alright." It feels a bit like bracing for a fight, but I manage to not tense when the door on Roy's side opens and my archer flashes a grin and slides sideways and out. I follow him, admittedly enjoying the second where he's standing, I'm not, and his ass is pretty much in my face. The driver shuts the door behind us, as I take a glance around and raise an eyebrow at the building in front of us.

A movie theatre, lights bright and proudly displaying posters of all the latest movies. Or, what I assume are the latest movies. I don't keep up to date on most civilian things, and movies are kind of a big blank zone for me. There were nights as Red Hood that I threw movies on in the background as I worked, or just needed to destress and not pay attention, but they were usually pretty old things I'd either seen before or didn't pay that much attention to. After all, anything with violence always just makes me cringe and make faces, because _everything_ is inaccurate and it bothers me that all the characters are incompetent fighters.

I can enjoy a good drama, or mystery, or even some comedies, but any real focus on violence or non-thinking romances and consider me out. If I'm going to check out of my brain for a while but actually pay attention to something else, it's gotta be for something at least a little worthwhile. Remakes of Shakespeare plays aren't bad, usually, even if they're ridiculous, and most things in the fantasy or sci-fi genre I can get through. At least those don't have inaccurate violence, just impossible or unlikely versions. I know how a fair amount of magic works, and the realistic types are pretty much never what you see.

At least there's no one around. No paparazzi, in fact even the ticket booth is shut down and empty. There's movement beyond the theatre's glass front doors that are obviously a couple of uniformed employees, but really it's just kind of… deserted.

I glance back when the limo starts to pull away, but my attention gets pulled back when Roy reaches back and takes my hand, starting to pull me forward towards the doors. He seems totally unconcerned with the lack of people — it _is_ Valentine's day, right? Shouldn't there be all kinds of people all over the place, especially _here?_ — and his stride is steady and confident.

I consider bringing the lack of people up, but instead just ask, "Really?" in the most sarcastic voice I can muster. Because honestly, a movie? _Really?_

"Trust me, Jaybird," he says, flashing me a grin and slowing down a touch to walk beside me. "I've got _everything_ handled."

"I don't think you've _ever_ got me handled," I say without thinking about it, and the surprise on his face that quickly softens into a bright laugh and a _warm_ smile is… I never know what the hell this feeling is that bleeds into my chest, aches, and feels so damn _good_ even though it takes my breath and _hurts_ , but I don't want it to ever leave.

His smile flashes to a grin that's nearly wicked, and he raises one eyebrow. "I don't know, I think I do at least a _decent_ job of handling you, Jason. You never seem to complain."

I tug his hand, pulling him to a stop and towards me, and _damn_ whatever civilians might be watching I don't care if they see the way I grip the back of his neck and pull him up into a kiss. They can all go to hell if they mind. Roy is… _This_ is mine, it's _always_ going to be mine if I have anything to say about it, and this is one of the benefits I get out of it. I get to touch this ridiculous, idiotic, genius, _gorgeous_ man, and maybe the greedy street rat part of me wants to cling close and snarl at anyone else who tries to touch him, but a kiss is probably a safer bet than doing that.

"Maybe you can show me later," I offer, as I pull back and he makes this reluctant, _wanting_ noise in the back of his throat that makes my grip on the back of his neck contract, before I remember to ease back up.

His eyes flick open, and I get lost in the green for a second — but not in the way I'm used to, not drowning, suffocating, _burning_ — before his voice pulls me back out of it. "Promise," he whispers, with a soft, breathy laugh. "That's definitely in the plans at _least_ once."

I take in a shallow breath, releasing him to let him pull away even though everything I have screams to hold him close, and then take a deeper breath to try and control myself. I don't know what it is about Roy that makes me so… unguarded. With him everything is so bright and close to the surface, even when everything about the moment is soft and safe. The scariest part is that I don't think I mind that it's so _hard_ to control my own reactions around him, control my own _desires_.

Not like the sex with Dick, where I lose the ability to hold back, but Roy just makes me feel… open. And I don't _mind_. I should, shouldn't I? My walls are there for a reason, shouldn't I care that they don't work to keep him out?

Roy pushes open the glass door, and holds it open as I follow him inside. The staff — three of them, two behind a fully running and stocked 'refreshment bar' and one standing in the center of the lobby — are all smiles, and I'm sure there's something judgemental going on in their heads but they're apparently good enough at their jobs in customer service not to show it. I'm not going to look too closely either; whatever they're thinking I don't want to _know_.

The door falls closed behind me, and Roy squeezes my hand once before letting go. "Grab whatever you want, Jaybird," he says with a grin, moving forward and off to the side to speak with the staff member from the center of the room. Manager? Must be. Might even be an owner.

I pause for a second, glancing around as my mind automatically catalogues exits and escape routes, before heading forward to the snacks and all the machines. A young woman meets me at the register, with a bright smile that barely even feels faked. "What can I get for you, sir?"

I glance along the menus and lists of items, raising an eyebrow at the pictures that don't look _anything_ like the real products, and debating what I actually want. I'm vaguely hungry, but I'd bet that somewhere in Roy's plans for tonight dinner is involved, that seems like something he would do. So I probably shouldn't satisfy the hunger right now, but just grab something to tide me over until late. Or ignore it. It's not like I'm actually a slave to my stomach, I can ignore hunger for a long time.

Yeah, I'll just do something simple.

"Just a soda, thanks. Mountain Dew. No ice, and large."

She nods, gives a slightly larger smile, and heads back to fill the request. Instead of watching her, even though I should — people trying to poison me isn't exactly rare — I turn to watch Roy instead. He's obviously at ease talking to the staff member, but still catches my gaze when it turns his way and smiles, excusing himself from the company and heading towards me. I lean against the counter, watching him and appreciating the cling of his shirt and the taper of his chest to his waist and hips, and when he gets up to me he's got a tiny brush of red across the bridge of his nose.

"You look like you're stripping me with your eyes," he points out, under his breath, and I smirk.

"Who says I wasn't?" I counter, equally quietly, and that tiny bit of red spreads down over his cheeks. He rolls his eyes and smiles, looking like he's a step away from laughter. "Want me to tone it down?" If it makes him uncomfortable then I can stop. I like looking at him, I like the direction my thoughts take when I think about the angles of his muscles and the way his skin looks under my hands, but I've got a _lot_ of experience controlling myself. I can at least not be obvious about it.

He shakes his head, leaning next to me and down against the counter, bracing both arms as he watches the two employees behind it huddle together and speak in hushed whispers punctuated with glances at the two of us. It should probably make me paranoid, but the young woman and slightly younger guy honestly just look like they're trading gossip. It doesn't exactly set off any of my warning senses.

I take the second that Roy doesn't speak to admire the curve of his back from how he's leaned down and, yes, the way the black slacks cling to his ass. Mostly, actually, I like the way his hair falls to one side and exposes the pale skin of the closer side of his throat. Weird it might be but that's my favorite part of the way he's positioned.

"Come on, Jason," he says, with a warm smile up at me. "You think I _mind_ getting oggled by the hottest guy in at least five square miles? Nah, I think I'm just _fine_ having his attention, thanks."

My smirk comes back, and I reach out to trace the line of his neck and brush my fingers through his hair. Yeah, the two employees are watching, but _damn_ them both. This moment is _mine_. "I'll keep staring then."

Not that I think he knows what he's talking about. I mean, the hottest guy, _me?_ Yeah right. I'm good looking, and I know it, but with the scars I've got there's no way I make the high ranks. It's different for Dick, even Bruce is ridiculously handsome, and Tim is pretty beyond words, but me? I'm the scarred up street rat, I didn't do the same kind of treatments and keep myself nice for the cameras like they did. It's not the same.

But it does feel good to hear.

Roy closes his eyes for a second, leaning into my touch, and then slowly straightens up and steps in next to me. He turns, backing up against my chest and leaning his head onto my shoulder, and I automatically loop my arms around his waist. I glance up, as his back presses against my chest and he rests some of his weight on me, and watch the two employees start back towards us. Hesitantly, and the young man with a flush across his cheeks that's a whole lot more intense than Roy's was, but their pace is mostly steady.

The woman sets my drink down, straw poking through the top of the plastic lid, and gives a smile that's only a little bit shaky — not out of fear, like I'm used to, but I think, maybe, _desire?_ — as she meets Roy's eyes. "Can I get you anything else, sirs?"

"That's _it_ , Jason?" Roy says, head tilting back to look at me, and I shrug.

"I'm simple, remember?"

He snorts and shakes his head, and I can see the corner of a grin as he looks back at the two employees. The guy is hanging back a bit behind his coworker. "Large popcorn, please, lots of butter." The guy moves to get it, and Roy nudges one elbow back into my ribs. "You can have some of that, Jason, if you want."

"I'll think about it," is what comes out of my mouth. Totally noncommittal but Roy has to be used to that by now. I keep my options open whenever I can, helps not to be boxed into anything. Besides, I really am alright with just a drink.

I know Roy's got all the Queen money behind him, and I've got my own private fortune even if I couldn't just tap into the Wayne money whenever I wanted — not that Roy knows that — but excess has never sat well with me. I wasn't Talon for long enough to actually get comfortable living the rich lifestyle, where if I didn't like the taste of something I actually got to ask for something else. When you're on the streets, or in Crime Alley, you take what you can get when you can get it. You save, and you eat only as much as you need to so you'll still have some for tomorrow, and I never got out of that way of thinking.

No matter how many times Alfred quietly reminded me that there would be breakfast in the morning, and I didn't have to hide snacks away in my room, I did it anyway.

Just because I've got the money I need — way _more_ than what I need, I could survive on nothing if I needed to — doesn't mean that I just get whatever I want without thinking about it. I'm minorly hungry, yeah, but I know there will be food later so I don't have to eat now. Why would I?

It honestly doesn't make much sense, not even to me, and the other Owls have _never_ understood it, but it's just how I am. Maybe someday I'll actually get used to having money, but I _really_ haven't yet. I don't expect rich kids raised in wealth to understand it, and that includes all my brothers and Roy too. Sure, he was on the streets for a little bit, but not long, and he wasn't _poor_ before that. I'm the street rat of the Crime Syndicate, I know that. I don't expect people to think like I do.

"Uh-huh," Roy says, sounding totally disbelieving, "sure you will. What's your drink?"

"Mountain Dew," I answer automatically, and I'm pretty sure he makes a face. At the least, he makes a noise that sounds vaguely disgusted. I flick my eyes up towards the ceiling, shaking my head just a little bit. "For the caffeine, Roy, not the taste."

He shudders — _totally_ faked, it doesn't feel like a real shudder at all — but doesn't pull away from me at all, just returns his attention to the woman behind the counter. "You've got Fanta, right?" She nods, opening her mouth like she's going to speak, and Roy pretty smoothly slides in another question before she can. "What flavors?"

"Orange and strawberry, sir," she answers, and I can almost _feel_ the grin light up his face.

"Strawberry please, large."

I nearly _choke_ on a snort, and then shake my head for real as she turns away to fill up another cup. "You're judging _me_ , Roy? Christ, that shit is _gross_."

"Hush, heathen," he says, twisting in my arms a bit to actually look up at me, grinning. "It's delicious, and if you don't want any you don't have to have it. Deal?"

"That's not a _deal_ , that's being stubborn and drinking something that's totally nast—" He kisses me, right arm rising so his hand can grip the collar of my white shirt, and alright that's a fairly good way to shut me up, I guess. It works, anyway. Roy's not the only person that can shut me up at the drop of a hat, but he's pretty much the only one that can do it without getting snapped at.

Granted, Dick's preferred method of making me shut up is usually his hands abruptly being places they really shouldn't. Down my pants, generally. This is nicer.

" _I_ like it," he says against my mouth, as I swallow and resist the urge to tighten my arms around his waist or spin him fully around to _actually_ be able to kiss him the way I _really_ want to. "Agree to disagree?"

I breathe for a moment, then give a soft snort and bow my head a little against his. "I guess I can do that," I concede, in a grumble that I really don't feel. "Still reserving the right to make you eat a mint before I kiss you again, if I don't like the taste."

He smiles, hand letting go of my collar and very gently touching my neck with just his fingertips. It's only a second that they linger, and I should tense, I should freak out in the back of my mind, but I don't. "You and me both, Jason."

"Here you go, sir." I look down, at the young man setting the large cardboard container of popcorn on the counter, as the woman heads back towards us. He looks pretty blown away, and just to see what'll happen I flash a smirk at him, with just enough teeth to be dangerous but not enough to really be a threat. He flinches, flushes, and jerks out of the way of the woman as she sets the drink down.

Interesting.

"Chocolate, Jason?" Roy asks, and I can hear the amusement in his voice. Yeah, I figured that he'd probably noticed too. Roy can be oblivious sometimes, but he's usually not. He is a genius, after all, even if you wouldn't know it unless you saw him firmly in his zone. He really shines in a garage, or a lab, with all his experiments and gadgets spread out all around him. That's where he's really happy, and involved, and he gets this _glow_ to his eyes that's just gorgeous.

I shake my head, knowing he'd be able to feel it even if he didn't actually glance up at me like he does. "I'm good, Roy. Really."

"Then it sounds like we're all done," Roy says with a laugh, aimed at the two employees, and the woman — holding it together way better than the man — smiles widely and gently pushes the drinks together and to our side of the counter.

"Enjoy your movie, sirs."

I, reluctantly, release Roy as he shifts forward to grab his drink in one hand — the red I can see through the plastic lid makes me cringe a little bit — and the tub of popcorn in the other, and heads off to the right, towards a corridor that must be where the actual theatres are. I collect my drink, and resist the urge to smirk at the male employee again as I follow Roy, catching up to him with a couple slightly longer than average steps.

"So," I start, as we head into the corridor and out of earshot of any of the three employees, "there's no one else here." It's not a question, just a fact. "What did you do?" There's no way that a movie theatre is this quiet on the night of Valentine's day. No way. This has to be a serious night for them with all of the profit from dates and such, they should be _packed_. Why aren't they?

"Negotiated," Roy says, with a slightly wicked looking grin. "Queen money has its uses. I paid them upfront to shut down for the night, gave them a check for everything they earned last year." I swallow, and his grin fades to a smile as he shifts to the side and bumps his shoulder into mine. "I wanted to take you out, and I figured a loud movie, in the middle of a dark room, with a bunch of strangers, probably not a good idea. So, I got us a private viewing, so I could still take you out. I'm sure the media will show up when we head back out, but we're alone till then."

That's… I…

"You alright, Jaybird?" he asks quietly. "Cause if this was a stupid idea, or you don't like it, we can turn right back around and walk out. Swear I won't be offended, it was just a wild guess on my part and if I totally misread things just say something, alright? I mean—"

"Roy, _shut up_." His mouth snaps closed, and he comes to a stop in front of what has to be our door — number eight — as he turns to look at me. His hands are full, and he doesn't look real sure of himself anymore, and _god_ this is…

"Please say something?" It almost sounds pleading, and he's starting to look like he's actually freaking out a bit so I shake my head and give half a laugh.

I settle on the closest thing I can think of that doesn't betray how much this just… "You're right. Me and strangers isn't a good combination." The words stuck in my throat are a combination of 'thank you,' and 'this is perfect,' and 'you're amazing,' but I can't force any of it out of my mouth. I just _can't_.

Roy eases anyway, smiling again and looking pretty seriously relieved, and then he steps back and shoves one side of the double door open with the back of his shoulder. "Yeah, I remember you mentioning you didn't like crowds, and some other stuff. I went from there."

He paid _attention?_ Roy actually listened to what I said, and kept it somewhere in his head, and then planned a night around giving me all the 'normal' things of a date without actually freaking me out? That's gotta be bullshit. No one actually pays that much attention to me, not even my family. No one _gives_ that much of a fuck about whether or not I'm comfortable, not anyone. Not even _Talia_. She's pretty much been the most considerate, but that's not because she _cares_ , it's because she knows firsthand all about the Lazarus Pit and the things it can do to someone. She was trying to keep me sane, she wasn't actually concerned about _me_.

Dick and Bruce care, in their own weird ways, but we're _Owls_. Pushing the limits, ignoring pain and discomfort, being _better_ , that's just what we always do. None of them, not even the little demon bastard, would actually purposefully target my paranoias, but none of them are going to go out of their way to keep from freaking me out either. If it happened, I'd be expected to work through it and not endanger the team. Period.

The idea that anyone would pay any attention to my stupid paranoid phobias except to be able to know when I might flip out on them is ridiculous. That someone would actually listen when I say I don't like things and then actively _avoid_ those things?

"You remembered that?" I ask, haltingly following him inside as he holds the door open with his shoulder, still giving me that warm, open, _smile_.

"Well, yeah. Of course. You know, I do actually listen some of the time." He leads the way down the dimmed corridor, since it's barely wide enough to fit two people side to side, especially considering our shoulders. "And you're _always_ worth listening to."

The casual way he says it tightens my throat, and I'm _really_ glad I'm at his back because I have to close my eyes for a second to keep my breathing even, and my pace normal. Roy is totally nuts, that's the only explanation. Nobody sane would actually choose to be with someone as fucked up as me — and it's a _fact_ that I'm fucked up, not an opinion — and only somebody totally crazy would actually cater to all of my weird fears and discomforts. Only somebody crazy would have listened to all the offhand comments I've made about what I don't like — apart from Tim, I've never flat out told anyone what I'm afraid of — and then actually remembered it.

Or someone who wants me dead, but I've _never_ felt threatened by Roy. Not even a little, and I'm a _damn_ good judge of character. If he'd been compiling a list of my weaknesses to use against me, I'd know.

I open my eyes again when Roy says, quietly, "Pick wherever you want to sit, Jason." He's still smiling as I step up next to him, taking a look at the rows of seating and mapping the room in the back of my head. "Even if it's all the way up in the nosebleed section." There's a teasing edge to his voice that stops me from taking him seriously, but I do glance all the way up towards the back of the room and the highest row of seats.

Actually… "That's probably best." Even though there's no one else here, having that much empty space behind me in a mostly dark room might gradually make me pretty damn paranoid. Having the wall at my back is usually a good feeling; no room for ambushes. Roy makes a face, and I smirk as I nudge my way past him and start up the stairs to the side of the rows. "What? You've got good eyes, don't you?"

"Fair point," he admits, and I can hear his steps behind me as he follows me up to the last row. "But in the middle, right? We've gotta be in the middle."

"Yeah, the middle's fine, Roy." Actually, the middle is best. More space and more obstacles between us and any theoretical angle of attack by someone else. It's just the way my mind works, it was the way my mind worked even before Bruce ever picked me up. He didn't teach me to be wary, he just taught me how to do it efficiently.

I step into the row first, moving slightly sideways until I reach the two middle seats in it. I drop into it, idly fitting my drink into the cupholder of the built in plastic arm to my right, as Roy takes the seat to my left. He sits a little more cautiously, probably because of the tub of popcorn, and mirrors my movements. I'll admit watching as he braces the tub between his knees and slots his drink into his own armrest. From there he turns back towards me, reaching in and pulling at the armrest between us before giving a crow of victory and shoving it up. It goes, flattening back between our seats, and he shifts over to press against my side.

I don't know what it is that makes me automatically raise my left arm to loop around his shoulders, behind his neck, or why the warm press of his body up against my side feels so _good_ , but I try not to look too closely. I turn my head into him instead, closing my eyes against the orange-ish red of his hair and pulling him tighter against me. He makes a pleased noise, and his hand presses down against my thigh as he leans into me, head back against my shoulder and his nose just brushing the skin of my throat. He takes in a deep breath and wiggles a little closer to me, hand squeezing down on my thigh, easing into the wrap of my arm.

There's a faint whine, the startup of something electrical, and I flick my eyes open in time to see the lights start to dim. The screen down in front of us brightens with the green of a trailer, and the sound comes on with a crackle of speakers as some kind of drama movie starts blaring music towards us.

"Alright, so I figured you probably weren't much for romances, or action, so I just picked something else that looked interesting. If it's lame, I claim full responsibility."

I make a noncommittal noise, shifting my head to actually be looking at the screen. I probably shouldn't give Roy any more fuel by telling him that this is actually the first time I've been in a movie theatre. Legally, anyway. This was an expensive thing to a Crime Alley family, and a basic night out for a halfway edible dinner was way better than paying the same amount and sitting in front of a screen to watch something for a couple hours. I snuck in once or twice as a kid — and got my ass handed to me both times when I got caught — but I've never just gone and paid before.

Bruce and Dick weren't real concerned about giving me any experiences, and once I was Red Hood I really wasn't in any kind of a position to wander off and watch a movie. Even if I could have stood the dark, or the crowd, when I was still that insane with the pit-madness, why the hell would I choose to risk it when I could just prop my feet on a desk with my laptop and watch something there?

I didn't have _fun_ as Red Hood, I just built a fortune and hunted the Owls. If I had any kind of 'fun,' it was from beating the shit out of someone and then receiving a very nice payment with a lot of zeros for it. I'm not sure I would call that 'fun,' anyway. It was more like satisfaction. I didn't go out and do things just to enjoy myself. I was busy, and the Lazarus Pit was still wreaking havoc on my mind anyway. There's no way I would have been able to calm down enough, and _stay_ calm enough, to be out in public for that long without some kind of job or mission to keep me on track.

I'm not going to tell Roy that. He'll just make some kind of big deal out of it. Let him think he's only getting my first official 'date' tonight, and not my first movie too.

Once we get past the opening trailers, the movie is… Alright, _bad_ is a strong term. It's not particularly interesting, even if the graphics are pretty good. It's fantasy, something about elves, dwarves, a war with some evil human king, and some chosen boy with a dragon. Standard fair, really. There are some faintly attractive actors in it, but I've got Roy Harper pretty much laying on top of me so faintly pretty people really aren't much of a distraction.

I pay less attention to the movie as it goes on, and more to the head of red hair under me and the shift of muscle against my side as he devours the popcorn and takes alternating sips of his drink between bites. I can't see his eyes from here, but he makes a few sarcastic comments at the screen, directed towards the actors, that make me smirk. I don't answer his comments, but they're entertaining to hear. More entertaining than the actual movie.

It's maybe an hour in — and somewhere in the middle of a bad romance between the main elf and the human boy — that I give up all pretense of actually watching the film.

I pull him in against me a little harder for a second, he takes it in stride, and then lean my head down to flick my tongue over the shell of his ear. He jerks, makes a sound somewhere between startled and unconsciously pleased, and I can't help the smirk that curls my mouth. I _love_ his noises.

"Jason," Roy hisses, not turning to look at me even as I part my lips to blow a breath over his ear and then lean forward to graze my teeth over the top of it. "What are you doing?" He doesn't sound totally opposed to it, and he hasn't pulled away from me, and I'm going to take that as permission. If he really wanted me to stop then he'd tell me to, and he hasn't. Good enough.

"I thought you were taking full responsibility if the movie was lame?" I counter, in the low rumble of a voice that I know he likes, reaching in with my right hand to run it firmly up the thigh pressed up against mine. He twitches, dragging in a shaky breath, and his shoulder presses back hard into my chest, but it feels like reflex and not a message to get off of him.

"Well, yeah. But that doesn't—" He cuts off sharply as I squeeze the top of his thigh, just an inch or so away from the junction of his hip, and then shivers when I press my lips to the side of his throat and let my teeth graze across his skin. " _Jesus_ , Jason, did you want something?"

I give a considering hum, kneading the muscle of his thigh as I raise my left hand off his shoulder to reach in and touch the side of his face, and then back across his scalp and through his hair. "Keep me entertained, Roy?" I whisper into his ear, and he jerks sharply and takes in another deep breath.

"It _is_ a pretty lame movie," he agrees, slowly turning his head to look up at me, and I keep close enough that I can easily join our lips when he turns far enough towards me. He presses up into me, and I swallow back the urge to turn and pin him back against the seat. Instead I slide my fingers across the back of his skull and hold his head up, tasting the part of his mouth as I kiss him more deeply. He breathes between our mouths, and he _does_ taste a bit like that nasty shit he calls a drink but it's not _that_ bad. Worth it.

He softly groans, one of his hands closing in the front of my shirt, and he eases into me even as the muscles in his thigh and arm tense. I pull back enough from his mouth to press my lips against his jaw, and then twist my body towards him so I can lay a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his neck. I'm sure I'd be able to taste the salt of his skin, but Roy's drink is pretty much overpowering everything else in my mouth at the moment. I'm not really a fan, but there's not much I can do about it.

"So what were you thinking?" Roy asks, sounding a bit breathless, and just to hear the noise he makes I pull the fingers on his scalp together to grip his hair and pull his head back. Not yank, Roy doesn't _like_ pain, but just pull enough to make his throat arch.

He doesn't disappoint.

The sound he makes is a shuddering moan, strangled down to a reasonable volume, that ends with a muttered, " _Christ_."

"You're giving me too much credit if you think I have this planned out," I comment, reversing my path back up his throat until I get back to his mouth. There's something about the strands of red hair against his pale skin that's just intoxicating, like the slight part of his mouth or the eased surrender of his closed eyes. I'm self aware enough to know that a lot of it is the _trust_.

The idea that Roy knows how dangerous I am, and how screwed up my head can be, but he'll still lay there with his eyes closed and let me do what I want to him. It's probably not _smart_ , but he trusts me and it's so _nice_ to have someone not be on guard around me. It's not like I expect any of my family to do that, in fact I don't expect _anyone_ to. Owls don't drop our guards, not if we can help it, and not even to each other. We might be a little _less_ guarded, but we still keep ourselves together. Any weakness is a vulnerability, and we're not selfless enough to ignore it in each other.

Yeah, I keep my own mental lists of what my brothers are afraid of, or don't like, or are just not _good_ at. They do the same to me, I'm sure.

"Well," Roy says, sounding out of breath, "I haven't got any supplies on me, and we _do_ have to go back out in public so we probably shouldn't be too obvious."

Fair point.

"C'mere," I demand, pulling him towards me, and he moves completely willingly. The popcorn gets relegated to the chair next to him as I part my legs and he settles between them, back to my chest, and it's not _totally_ stable — we're decently sized, and the theatre chairs aren't really meant for two people — but it works well enough. His shoulders roll back against me as his hands find my sides and stroke down my ribs, head tilting back onto my shoulder.

There is _nothing_ like having Roy in my lap. Not even Dick. Dick is never this pliant, or relaxed, and the chance that he'd let me have him in a position so obviously geared in my favor is pretty unlikely. Not impossible, but unlikely.

I slide my hands over his thighs, feeling the muscle beneath the pulled-tight fabric, and turn my head to bury my mouth and nose against the side of Roy's throat. It's warm, and he smells _good_ , and I consider for a few seconds before raising my left hand to tug his shirt out from where it's tucked in. I can't do _anything_ worthwhile with it like that, may as well get at least one obstacle out of the way. He gives a pleased sound, hands finding the bottom of my shirt and working underneath, stroking across my ribs with fingers that are just a bit rough with callouses. Archer, after all.

I slide that hand up beneath the green shirt, closing my eyes for a second at the feel of his bare skin under my fingertips. His abdomen clenches under my touch, and I squeeze my hand down over his thigh at the feeling of the muscles tightening and defining themselves beneath the hand on his stomach. He makes another sound, a low groan this time, and I kiss the side of his throat in answer, tracing patterns over his stomach and ribs, feeling the variation of scars as my touch passes over them. I know the marks carved into his skin by heart — memorizing them the first few times I saw him naked was automatic — and I don't have to see them anymore to be able to follow their paths.

He's a ranged fighter, so he doesn't have the same amount that any of my brothers do, and not even as many as me even though I've got less than the rest of the Owls — regenerative chemical baths are a great way to get a blank slate on scars — but he's not totally smooth. It's a fact of vigilante life, and I like him better this way anyway. To me it's weird when people like us don't have scars, it makes me defensive about my own and it always makes me assume that they must be — like Kon-El — either pretty much invulnerable or heal too fast to keep marks like that. Either way, that doesn't exactly make me want to let them near me in any situation I'm not totally in control of.

I raise my other hand off his thigh to undo his belt, and he arches up into my touch a little bit before his nails scrape across my skin and he relaxes back against me again. I flick my eyes closed for a moment at the very faint pain of the scratches, but I'm still not sure where Roy stands on the whole masochism thing so I hold back any other reaction. If he never figures it out on his own, I'm never going to bring it up. I don't know how he'll react, or if he'll freak out, and I'm pretty damn sure he wouldn't be alright with hurting me so it's not like there's a point in telling him.

Besides, it's not like I'm exactly craving it. A night with Dick is an easy way to fulfill _that_ need, and maybe Roy always gives me these _looks_ the next day like he's worried, but he hasn't said anything past that first time that he asked what happened so I'm not broaching that either. Roy always talks about what's on his mind. If he really wanted to know, he'd ask.

"So you're saying I shouldn't leave any obvious marks?" He shudders, sharply, arching again, and it almost sounds like he strangles back a moan at the question. It probably doesn't help that it's the same moment that I flick the button of his slacks open and pull the zipper down.

"Yeah," he gasps, "probably shouldn't." I make a noise that's something like acknowledgement, and swap my hands. My left lowers to cup the hard press of his erection through — of course; he looks a bit like a Christmas tree — dark red boxers, and my right slides up his chest, on top of his shirt. He bucks up into my hand, and I curl my fingers around the collar of his shirt and pull it to the side so I can lower my mouth to a spot of skin at the back of his shoulder, _well_ out of view of anyone who isn't seeing him shirtless.

I don't bite him, even though that's what I'm used to doing and having done to me, but the gentler version instead. I close my mouth over the spot I've chosen and suck against it, rolling his skin between my teeth, and he moans and jerks a little bit, nails scratching over my skin again. They're blunt, carefully trimmed, but it still feels good. Roy bruises fairly easily — and the bruises stand out _really_ well against his pale skin — so I only keep at it for a few seconds before letting his flesh and then his shirt go.

He pushes up into my hand, and I rub over the cloth covering his erection and raise my head to press comparatively gentle kisses to the side of jaw, and then below his ear. "Got anything to clean up with?" I ask, resisting the urge to go any further because this is actually an important question. I can't really go any further if there's not going to be anything to clean up with afterwards, apart from a cringe worthy walk to the nearest bathroom and I'm not down for that. I'd rather be an awful tease then do that, and I'm pretty sure he would too. At least, he won't appreciate having to make that walk in public and with the media only separated from him by glass doors.

"My tongue," he answers instantly and kind of dazedly, and I take in a sharp breath before he jerks and seems to actually realize what he's said. "No, _jeez_ , napkins. I've got napkins for the popcorn. I'm not— _Christ_."

I shove my head into the comforting crook of his neck and shoulder for a second, swallowing and trying to ignore the sharp, _burning_ , desire that just leaped to the front of my mind. Trying not to hold Roy too tight, or bite him somewhere more obvious, or _jesus fucking christ._ I'd pay to see Roy lick come off my hand. I don't pay for anything, and I _damn_ well don't pay for sex, but for a sight like that I would make some really unfavorable deals and probably get myself in some real trouble. Just the thought is… _fuck_. Why the hell has that never occurred to me before?

Well, duh. I've got _actual_ Roy Harper in my bed most nights, why the hell would I need to fantasize about him on top of that?

I take in a shaky breath and loop my left arm around his chest, not pulling my head up and not opening my eyes because I just—

"You alright, Jason?" Roy asks, and there's just a little bit of worry in his tone.

I tighten my grip for just a second — just the one around his chest, not the hand I've still got on his crotch and _wow_ is he aware considering that — and move my head in something like a nod. "Yeah, _fuck_ , just give me a second."

He _laughs_ at me for that, snorting and then snickering, and I drag my head up far enough to watch him jerk and gasp — which cuts off that laugh — when I very purposefully grip his cock through the boxers and firmly stroke upwards. His gasp turns into a not-so-steady moan, hands flexing against my ribs. " _Fuck_ , Jason."

"Was that one of your random statements?" I ask, not sounding all that controlled myself. "Or were you thinking it? Or…?" I want it to come out as a demand, but it kind of trails back off as the mental images in my head come back full force, and I actually _shudder_.

"Thinking about it," Roy admits, turning his head towards mine and I can feel his breath against my scalp and my ear and I resist the urge to stroke him again just to get his attention off of me. "But fantasies, and it just kinda slipped out and do you _seriously_ like the thought that much, Jaybird?"

"Good image," I manage to say, into his skin. I can feel his cock twitch under my hand, as he shifts, and then his lips are against my ear and his right hand is rising off of my ribs. I stay still, not looking up, and his fingers touch the side of my face before running back through my hair. It's gentle, _nothing_ like the hard pull of Dick's fingers, but it's good, it's nice.

"Well, not _here_ , but if you want to add that to the list of things for later I'm down, Jaybird." My eyes snap open, and I can feel him smile, hear the amusement in the huff of breath he lets out against the side of my head. "Not a bad taste, and if _mentioning_ it does this I _really_ want to see what happens when I actually do it."

I swallow again, tightening my grip and then forcing it loose when I remember that Roy is normal and I can't compress his chest too far if I want him still breathing. Which I do. "You're serious?" I ask, hoping, _daring_.

"Alright, Jason, serious moment here." I raise my head, looking over at him because he actually _does_ sound serious and it's a little weird. His green eyes meet mine, watching me for a second, and then he smiles. "If I _ever_ tell you I'm alright with something, Jaybird, I mean it. Period. Never going to lie to you." He leans in and kisses me, fingers stroking through my hair and along my ribs. For a second it feels like he's going to say something else, I even hear him draw in the breath to do it, but then he lets the breath go and just smiles a little wider instead and presses up against me a little harder.

I'm curious what he considered saying, but I am _not_ curious enough to stop this to go after it. Probably just something inane that was actually slow enough to get caught on what little mental filter he's got. Not important, and _definitely_ not important enough to question it instead of paying full attention to the aroused Roy Harper in my lap. There's not much that isn't life threatening that could get me to stop paying full attention to that. Not that I know of, anyway.

I hold the kiss, grazing my teeth over his bottom lip for a second and then shallowly dipping my tongue between the rows of his teeth and into his mouth. I can feel him pull a breath in through his nose, meeting me halfway with his own tongue, and he's actually a pretty good kisser. Not many people are; it tends to get dropped by the wayside for actual sexual talents. Just to feel his reaction I give his cock another stroke, and the hitch of breath and the clench of his hand in my hair is _satisfying_.

"Napkins, huh?" I confirm, as I pull back, and he gives a small nod.

"Yep. Whole pile of 'em next to the popcorn. Come _on_ , Jason." He sounds just a _little_ pleading, even if I think it was supposed to be a demand, and I smirk before releasing my grip and — before his sharp little noise of _loss_ even gets all the way out of his mouth — sliding my hand beneath the band of his boxers to reestablish it. He gasps, arches, and this time I don't even bother with the _pretense_ of teasing.

My grip isn't as hard as the one I would use jacking myself off, or if I was doing it to Dick, but it's not gentle by far. Roy's one of us, and he's not fragile. He doesn't need to be treated like he's made of glass, and I don't think he'd like it if I did. He probably gets enough of people treating him like he's not up to snuff just because he's an archer, and not a brawler. Besides, if he _really_ didn't like it, then he'd just tell me. Roy's already made it pretty clear that he's vocal about things he's not alright with or doesn't like. He might not be aggressive, but that doesn't mean that he's a doormat.

He'd never have interested me for more than a night if he was a doormat.

"Grab them," I order, _also_ not bothering to pretend that I don't like watching Roy struggle to concentrate and pull himself together under the strokes of my hand. Alright, maybe Dick has rubbed off on me a bit. Oh _christ_. No. Well, yes, but I meant his _attitude_. And so has Roy's apparently. _Fuck_.

His hand leaves my ribs as he reaches out and gropes sideways, reaching for the popcorn and barely managing to graze it with his fingertips. The noise he makes in the back of his throat is small and maybe a bit pitiful, and I tighten my grip around his chest and shift us both over about three inches with a heave so he can actually reach the popcorn. He tenses up a little bit, but I'm not sure if that's at the shift of movement or the continued strokes. Either way, I watch under the curve of his jaw as his hand digs underneath the mostly empty tub of popcorn and comes up with a handful of white paper napkins. That'll work.

He arches, bites back what I'm pretty sure was some kind of a swear, and deposits the handful of napkins at the outside of my left thigh, where he then promptly rubs that hand down my leg, fingers clenching and releasing. Not hard enough to hurt, but it feels good, and more importantly it's visible and tangible proof that he's seriously aroused and having to hold himself together. That feels even _better_.

This; _this_ I can do. Maybe I can't say all these stupid, _important_ words in my head, and I can't show him that everything he does is seriously kind, and perfect, and that he's _amazing_ , but I can do _this_. I can make him lose his mind, make him arch, moan, and fall apart, and I can keep doing it. Until I get over all my stupid conditioned fears and my _stupid_ pride, this is how I can show him that he matters.

Because he does. _God,_ he does. He matters to me in a way that I'm not going to look at, and I'm not going to study, because if I freak out I don't want to lose him. Not _ever_. If I just ignore the specifics until I can handle them, then that'll be fine. No risk.

"So what are you thinking to pay me back?" I ask, rumbling it into his ear, and he twitches and lets loose a sound that's _definitely_ some aborted curse. I grin, but keep my mouth far enough away from his skin that he won't feel it.

He doesn't have to, _god_ knows even this terrible movie is something I should be paying _him_ back for — because he listens, and he respects my fears, and he sacrificed, compromised, made _deals_ to give me this — but I just need something to talk about. Talking about this always manages to drive Roy past the point of no return a little faster, a little _harder_. I manipulate the advantages I have, and this is a _big_ one.

Roy shudders, the hand in my hair tightening for a second — and it hurts and it's _good_ — before he remembers himself and relaxes it to only be a loose hold again. "I think I remember promising you I'd show you how I handle you," he says, breathless, and I blink, actually taken by surprise for a second. I recover.

"Yeah, you _did_." I lean my head into the side of his neck, closing my eyes and focusing on the physical touch of him, on the way he sounds and the fast pulse beating through into my head. I don't need to see him to read his reaction to my touch. All the tells are in the way the muscles of his throat move as he swallows and drags in a deep breath, the way his hand rubs up my thigh and then clenches down when I twist my wrist at the top of a stroke, the _sound_ he makes that vibrates through his throat and into me so I can _feel_ it.

I bare my teeth a little bit, consciously drop and roughen my voice into a deep growl, and say into his ear, "Hand or mouth, _Roy?_ "

 _That_ gets a sharp jerk of his shoulder against my chest, and another contraction of the hand in my hair. He stutters out a laugh, holding tight enough in my hair to hurt so I _know_ I'm affecting him. Getting there. "Hadn't thought about it. Preference?" His voice is rough and distracted sounding, and underneath the arm around his chest I can feel that his breath is shallow and starting to get a little bit uneven.

Roy _can_ hold back, he's got a good amount of stamina when he wants to, but I make it a point to push that as far as I can and push against _every_ weak point I know he has. Besides, I don't mind lasting longer and I _know_ he doesn't mind me lasting longer so what the fuck does it matter? Sex doesn't usually work like porn and fiction would make you think it does. Sometimes women come more than once, sometimes they don't, fuck, sometimes they don't come at all, and orgasms aren't bound by some magical force that makes everyone come at the exact same time. That's ridiculous.

Last however long you will, feel pleasure the way you _want_ to, and damn everyone else. So long as the person you're having sex with doesn't care, why should it matter? Even if they do, sometimes the best response is to flash them a finger and leave them totally unsatisfied. If they're going to be an asshole, screw them. Or don't.

I twist my wrist a little more deliberately, he shivers, and I can feel his head arch back against my shoulder, muscle tightening against my cheek as his neck bends backwards. Again, I have to resist the urge to bite him. I really have been around Dick too long, considering biting is that natural and automatic a thing for me. It's not even about the pain, really, just the marks. Dick's costume is high enough on his throat to hide almost anything, but _I_ know it's there.

One way street there. Dick doesn't much like marks showing outside of his costume, but he _loves_ making me walk around with them the next day. I don't mind. I'm a little more monogamously inclined than he is, and he's got more of an image to uphold than I do. If I walk around with marks no one's going to do more than maybe wince, or smirk. If _he_ does, it's news.

I make a low noise against Roy's skin, letting it be more vibration than actual sound, and he hisses a sharp, " _God_ , Jason, please."

"Please _what_ , Roy?" I don't give him enough space to put together a response, but that wasn't the point of the question. "Are you asking me to push you down to your knees and let you suck me off? You could wrap your hand around yourself and jack off while you do it, come on the floor. I'd wrap both my hands in your hair and watch, tell you how hot it looks to see my cock between your lips, how _good_ it feels to be in your mouth."

He makes a keening, high pitched noise that forces me to swallow before I can keep talking, and I am _so_ not ashamed to say that I'm thinking of training routines and meditative counts to keep myself in check and in control.

"Or are you asking me to pin you down against the seats and grind against your back and your ass until _I'm_ satisfied, and maybe you'll get off humping against the cushions before I do, maybe not. You make such wonderful _noises_ when you're desperate, Roy." He arches, jerks up against my hand, and _makes_ one of those noises. Something soft and whining that turns into a cry that, luckily, blends in with a shout from one of the fighters in the battle on the screen. His hand is tight enough on my thigh that it might actually bruise, the one in my hair is a step away from yanking and _god_ it would feel good if he did.

"Or do you just want me to stay like this, telling you all the things I love doing with you, _to_ you, until you spill over my fingers?"

" _Jesus_ , that one, _please_ , Jason. _Please_."

Oh, _fuck_ , that never gets any easier to handle hearing. I pull in a slow breath that shakes just a bit, and I'm pretty sure there's actual tension in my shoulders that shouldn't be there, but it's taking everything I have to hold myself back and I don't have the restraint necessary to force myself to relax right now. Sometimes I can, with Roy, but this is _not_ one of those times. He's warm, and perfect, and _gorgeous_ , and this is almost public and he's letting me do it anyway, so yeah. Not even my control is perfect.

I ease my right arm down his chest, swapping my hands pretty much seamlessly as I reach over and grab a couple of the pile of napkins. It's not necessary, not right this second, but I don't want to be groping for them when I actually do need them. Roy will _not_ be pleased if I screw up and get any of this on his shirt. Alright, he'd be embarrassed, but he probably wouldn't actually be upset. He'd probably do something ridiculous like dumping some of his drink down the front of his shirt to cover it, and dodge the media through some back entrance.

I leave the napkins high on my thigh, and finally open my eyes again to watch. Feeling it is one thing, but there's also something very uniquely amazing about watching his chest rise and fall, and the shape of his cock where it alternately shows and doesn't through the stroke of my hand. It's enough to keep me quiet for another second, and make me devote a little more of my mind to the meditative counts, and remembering the exact positioning and form of basic strikes. It helps some; at least it keeps me from sinking my teeth into his neck and grinding up against his back like some kind of teenager. I don't grind or hump unless it's deliberate, and supposed to wind my partners higher.

I am _damn_ good at this, thank you very much.

I slide my free left hand up underneath his chest, against his shuddering abdomen and tracing over the etched lines of muscles and old scars. "I love the way your hair looks against your skin," I confess, doing what he wants and _jesus_ this is probably how Roy knows even _half_ of what I like about him. I say all _kinds_ of things when my mouth runs on automatic like this, and almost all of it is about something physical, but not _all_ of it. "It's fucking gorgeous, Roy. The way your back arches when I touch it makes me want to pin you down on your stomach and see how loud I can make you moan by just touching, kissing, _stroking_. I want to leave marks down your spine and watch them shift and move when you _writhe_ , beg for me to do more, to drag you up on your knees and fuck you."

Alright, maybe I talk for Roy's benefit, but I can't and won't lie to myself and say that it doesn't seriously arouse me too. Thinking of all the things that I could do to Roy, everything I've wanted to do or _have_ and it was great so I want to do it again.

Sometimes there's more imaginative, intense sex, and sometimes it's not that way and it's good and _wonderful_ but softer, and sometimes there's just not sex at all. Sometimes Roy comes into my room, or I go into his, and we just share a bed for the warmth and the comfort. It isn't _easy_ having the jobs that we do, and there are times we just don't have the energy, or one or both of us isn't in the mood. It happens. The companionship is still nice, and maybe that means this is a little more than casual but I'm not going there right now.

He's making small, whimpering noises, and my thigh is _definitely_ going to bruise but _fuck_ does it feel good. I don't know what kind of sound I'd make if he pulled my hair, but it would probably be really obviously aroused. I kind of wish he would, even if that would probably prompt a whole talk afterwards about why I liked what clearly hurt.

"You always feel so _good,_ Roy. Not just how it feels inside you, when you're hot and tight around my fingers or my cock," he gives a shallow gasp that rises into an intelligible cry, "but the way that your muscle stands out when you tense up and shudder. The feel of your hands on my back, or on my chest to steady yourself when you're riding me, the way you dig your nails in when you're close." As if in example, the hand on my thigh curls, and even though they're blunt the material of the slacks is thin enough that I can feel his nails. "I love how you sound when you're pleading, _begging_ me to take things that one step further and _really_ satisfy you. I love to make you ask but I love _doing_ it even more," and there's another unintentional truth. "Watching you fall apart is _amazing_ , Roy."

I swallow as he jerks and bucks upward, a deep moan rising through his throat before he gasps, "Jason, _god_ , Jason I— I'm—" He's shaking a little bit, and I lower my hand off his chest to take the napkins off my thigh, holding them at the right angle and just an inch or so above him. Not close enough to touch, they're pretty rough and he's pretty sensitive, especially now, but close enough to catch anything.

" _Look_ at me," I demand, pulling my head back away from his neck. It takes him a second, but he turns his head to look up at me, still pressed back against my shoulder. His eyes are glazed, hooded and _alive_ with lust, and something in my chest warms and eases against my will. Like I've got _no_ control over it. I don't know what I was going to say, what _filthy_ thing or truthful desire I was going to let spill between my lips, but what comes out is:

"I've got you, Roy, _I've got you_."

He jerks, mouth parting and I can feel him _throb_ in my hand so I lean in and catch the cry that leaves him inside a kiss, swallowing the sound away. My touch gentles, easing as he shakes and clutches at me, gasping against my mouth and coming into the napkin. "I've _got you_ ," I repeat in a whisper, against his mouth, as he starts to come down. He's faintly shaking, and as the last of the come leaves him I relax my grip, still holding him but loosely, and not stroking or moving. I crumple the napkin in my other hand, and barely even debate before tossing it the remembered distance to where I know the tub of popcorn is.

Roy was probably done with it.

His hands have loosened from their clutching grips, fingertips soothing over my thigh and the side of my skull in what I think is some kind of apology, so I grab the hand off my thigh and lace our fingers to stop him. He doesn't move away from the kiss, and I don't want to either, so I stay there. Slowly, gently, more a comfort than with any real kind of passion behind it. Not that I don't feel passion, because _god_ I do and I'm sure he can feel me against his back, but it doesn't match whatever this is.

And this? This feels good, and nice in a way I don't really recognize. I don't want it to end just yet.

Roy makes a lazy, satisfied noise into my mouth, and I can feel his lips curl into a soft smile against mine. His fingers are still stroking through my hair, idly, and it's so different from what I'm used to but so good. I don't think anyone but Roy has treated me this gently since… I don't know. Maybe Talia, but I only slept with her maybe four times and most of that was nothing like this. She taught me a lot of what I know, but she's one of the few people who knows exactly how much I can handle, so she never bothered treating me like I was any less.

Not that I think Roy views me as 'less,' I really don't. He's pretty much constantly making comments about my skills and talents, so I _know_ that he thinks I can more than handle myself, but in these moments the way he touches me is always so gentle. It's not familiar, not yet, but I'd be a lying bastard if I tried to say I didn't like it.

I carefully pull my hand away from him, not breaking the kiss and not looking down as I tuck him away and, one-handed, refasten his slacks and then the belt. He twitches, makes another of those satisfied noises in the back of his throat, but doesn't move or react apart from that.

His hand is loose in mine, relaxed, and I'm pretty sure I could manhandle or carry him wherever I wanted right now and he wouldn't care. He seems totally alright and content with just lying back against me, breathing slow and steady through the press of our lips. I'm almost content with it too, honestly.

Almost, because even though I have had so many lessons about, and so much practice at, controlling myself, it's not a perfect art.

It doesn't matter. I can hold myself back as long as I need to, and as long as he wants me to. I could even eventually calm down if I had to, and I wouldn't _appreciate_ or _like_ it but if Roy's not up for reciprocating then I can deal. I'm promised sex later, after all, and I trust Roy to keep his word. He's never broken it before.

Finally he pulls back a little, lips brushing the corner of my mouth and then down my jaw, until he buries his nose against the bottom of my jaw, below my ear, and hums into my skin. "That was good," he murmurs, stretching and arching in my lap like a cat just waking up, and I close my eyes in restraint for a second at the rub of his back against me. "You never answered."

"Answered what?" I ask, flicking my eyes open as I feel him pull a bit away from me. He meets my gaze, and there's something warm and soft in his eyes but also nearly wicked, as he smiles and the fingers in my hair stroke with a little more intent.

"Preference? Hand or mouth?" he asks, in a whisper, with a flick of his gaze down to my lips and then immediately back up.

I probably twitch a bit, and I'm pretty sure my mouth parts at the heat that rises in my low stomach, but I bite back any noise or real physical reaction to the question. "I think you know," I answer, and he gives a slow smile and leans in to press his lips against my jaw again. It's about at that second that my eyes travel across the seat in front of us, and glance at the floor, and then I flick my gaze up for a second. Yeah, nevermind. "But the floor's pretty nasty," it comes out in a grumble, "and your pants are nice." I don't quite meet Roy's eyes.

There's something about handjobs that makes me feel vulnerable, and usually I don't let people do that to me because I get that niggling doubt and fear in the back of my head, but it's not like I _can't_. It just takes… I have to trust the person doing it, and everything else aside I really _do_ trust Roy. It's weird, it's hard to admit even to myself, but I do. I'll just have to keep my eyes mostly open, and be careful I don't hurt him by accident. I can do that, no problem.

Roy shifts, turning halfway towards in the seat, and meets my gaze, pausing for just a second before he kisses me. Pretty much chaste, and only for a second, before he pulls back with a smile and quietly says, "Thanks, Jaybird." There's no clarification, but I'm pretty damn sure that the thanks isn't for not making him kneel on the slightly sticky ground. Because Roy pays _attention_ , and he _listens_ , and I know I've said something about handjobs at least once.

That's one of the things that makes Roy _fucking_ amazing. When I step outside of my comfort zone to let him do something, or so he doesn't have to do something, he _knows_ that I'm doing it. He doesn't just take what I offer without a word, or do it and then check to see if I'm alright, he actually acknowledges that what I'm doing isn't totally comfortable for me, and makes sure I know that he appreciates that I'm bending my limits for him.

And he doesn't expect me to answer, or to say anything, or even to point out that I'm doing it. He just _knows_.

How absurdly fucking lucky must I be to get to be around someone who actually gives that much of a damn about me? I'm not worth it, and I _know_ that, and I know someday Roy's going to find someone who isn't as fucked up and damaged as I am and that'll be the end of things. But until then I'm going to cling as hard as I can, because even though he deserves something better than me I'm too much of a selfish _ass_ to let him go. I don't _ever_ want to let him go.

Maybe the idea of that whole official thing isn't such a bad one. But then, _fuck_ , what if he says no? To hell with it, I'm not changing anything until I either get some obvious sign he wants to, or _he_ brings it up. No _fucking_ way am I risking it.

If being an Owl taught me anything, if _fighting_ them taught me anything, it's to not take risks you don't absolutely have to. Or, calculated risks that are _almost_ guaranteed to go your way.

Roy moves, turning in the seat to be turned towards me as his left hand pulls free of my grip and his right pulls back far enough to not be awkwardly stretched in front of my neck, coming up to resume stroking through my hair on the opposite side of my skull. I close my eyes for a second, enjoying the touch, and tracking Roy's movements through what I can feel of it. His side angles up against my chest, weight resting on my left leg and the left side of my torso, and his free left hand touches my chest, firmly and making sure I know where it is, before sliding down my torso and to the waistline of my pants. His mouth is busy along my jaw, pressing kisses to my skin as the hand in my hair combs through, lightly scratching at my scalp, as he undoes the clasp of the belt and then starts on the button and zipper.

I raise my hands, letting my left arm loop around his back and my right come up to wrap my fingers around Roy's left shoulder. Not to stop him, or warn him, or _anything_ , but just to have some kind of grip. It makes me feel better on some level to know that I _could_ push him away if I need to, and that I have some kind of power in this even if it's putting me in a slightly vulnerable position. It's just to ground me.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat that's a low hum, something soft and soothing, and adjusts to be able to kiss me as he pulls the zipper of my slacks down. If Dick made that noise I would consider it condescending, I'd be _pissed_ , but with Roy all it feels is genuine. It's not supposed to be anything pitying, or a sign of him treating me like anything but what I am, or him mocking me for my insecurities. It's just his automatic comfort in the face of a situation he knows isn't something I'm comfortable with.

I hiss out a breath when his hand carefully slips beneath the band of my boxers and wraps around me, tightening my grip on his shoulder and pulling back from the kiss so I can open my eyes. Roy is smiling, and he eases into me and lowers his head to my jaw and the side of my neck again, lips pressing in gentle kisses as I feel — in both his shoulder and the grip around me — his arm shift as he starts to stroke. I fight the ingrained urge to close my eyes, keeping them open and looking at the curve of Roy's neck and his hair.

Even if I forget myself for a minute, if I start to react or freak, I won't hurt him as long as I'm looking. No one else I know has that particular combination of pale skin and red-orange hair.

I slide my left hand up his back, gripping his shirt near the center, between his shoulder blades, and let the groan building in my chest slide through my teeth. I can _feel_ Roy smile against my neck, and his grip firms up a bit. The touch of his mouth — gentle, soft, _careful_ — is a counterpoint to the calloused pads of his hand, and the nearly rough drag of them as it moves. I let my head dip down, pressing into the skin I'm watching, letting my eyes close for just a few seconds to bury my face against his throat. Just for a _second_ , to let a shaking breath out against his skin and take in another with his unique blend of scents. To stabilize.

I don't pull back far, just far enough to be able to open my eyes without getting his hair in them, and it's _hard_ — no pun intended — but I let myself drift. I drop the eternal guard, drop the focus and the concentration that are just a conditioned part of me, and let myself slide into something easier and simpler. Just a simple enjoyment of the pleasure, unrestrained, with my gaze idle on his hair and not actually paying real attention to it.

This isn't a direct fear. It's not someone at my back, or a dark room, or an enclosed space, or being restrained. Keeping my eyes open isn't _necessary_ , I'd probably be alright if I closed them, but having them open and seeing that _red_ is a constant reminder that, even though this is a vulnerable act, the person with me is _Roy_. Roy who listens, who's never tried to use anything I've told him against me, who's _never_ hurt me, never even _threatened_ me.

If I can trust anyone, it has to be Roy.

I can feel the brush of his eyelashes as he closes his eyes against my skin, and the wash of air across my neck as he breathes slowly, steadily. "I don't care about my pants _that_ much," he points out. "We don't have to do this."

I drag him closer to me in automatic reaction to the sharp, _bursting_ swell of emotion clawing up my throat and hooking itself into every crevice of my chest. It's easier to mirror his position than face him as he gives a startled sound, so I press my face against his neck and let my eyes close. Breathing in his scent, tasting his skin against my lips, and taking a second to swallow down the surge of… I don't even _know_ what it is. But I swallow it down before I say something stupid.

"I'm alright," I promise.

How fucking lucky can I be? What he just offered is probably one of the smoothest, simplest outs that anyone has ever given me. All I would have had to do to take it is make some jackass comment and push him back from me, and he would have gone with it. And _damnit_ , if Roy can compromise and sacrifice to let me save face then I can damn well ignore being just a little uncomfortable. I'm _safe_ with him, and it's time I got that through my thick head.

I can feel him shift his head in a nod, and then the curve of his mouth in a small grin. "Well, you know, I'd like you _better_ than just 'alright.' "

I snort, but don't open my eyes or move away from his neck. I'm… I'm comfortable here. "Yeah?" It comes out more as a gasp, because Roy takes that moment to grasp a littler harder and twist his wrist right at the end of the stroke.

"Definitely. I'll settle for 'good' if I have to, but really I'm aiming for 'great' or better."

My hands flex on his shoulder and around my handful of the back of his shirt, and I strangle back a moan till it only comes out as a huff of breath. "You can probably get there," I counter, teasing.

Roy's lips press small kisses down the side of my neck, and the hand he has in my hair grips, briefly, and then eases back out to the same slow, idle strokes. "Maybe I can keep you up there, too. You know, by the time tonight's done I want you at 'satisfied' with a side of 'best night ever,' or I have seriously failed in giving you a proper first date."

I can't help the laugh that bursts out of my mouth, partially muffled against his throat but shaking my shoulders a bit so there's _no_ way he can miss it. "You're _ridiculous_ ," I say, past the chuckles, and he makes a noise that's pretty obviously pleased, and maybe proud.

"Well _yeah_. Really, Jaybird, I thought you'd have figured that out by now. Then again, I'm totally the most subtly ridiculous person ever, right?"

There's something about the mix of his hand on me — still moving; our back and forth hasn't stopped it — and the laughter that makes me breathless, and _happy_ in a way that feels free and natural. Nothing like the artificial high of some painkillers. It feels _so_ damn good.

I tilt my head back and relax into the theatre seat, easing my grip on Roy. Me settling back does most of the work, but he also pulls back an inch or so to meet my gaze, mouth curled in something between a grin and a smile, but _soft_. Maybe the green eyes should freak me out, but they're a different shade, and the emotion in them is _completely_ different, and even if they were the same this is still _Roy_. God, what would I do without him in my life? Without his jokes, and his ease, and his unquestioning acceptance of any and every fucked up part of me? I think…

I let go of his shoulder, raising my hand to touch the side of his face, to brush the strands of his hair that have fallen forward back behind his ear. He leans into my hand, eyes closing as he just _smiles_ , and I…

 _Fuck_ , I think I love him.

I sweep my hand back and clench it in his hair, dragging him in for kiss because _Christ_ , if he looks at me will he be able to see it? I can't face that right now. This is going so well and I don't want to scare him off, or away, or _anything_. I want him right here, with me, _forever_. I don't want to risk him seeing it in my eyes, or in my expression, and I don't know if I can control any of that right now. I won't say anything, of course I won't, and I'm damn certain that I'm not stupid enough to just say it by accident, but my expression?

This is new, this is completely unfamiliar, and I've got no _idea_ how to get this realization off my face.

Love is… It's not real, it's just a _word_. But then what the hell is this feeling in my chest, this desire and this tenderness that I don't have any other word for? Love, it _has_ to be. Isn't this what everyone is always talking about? Maybe it's just a _stupid_ word but _god_ if it isn't what I'm feeling I must be losing my mind again. This feels so amazing, and _terrifying_ , and I didn't realize how much Roy had become part of my life until I thought about the _pain_ of imagining a world where he's not part of my life anymore. It _hurts_ to even consider it.

So I kiss him. Feeling the pleasure low in my stomach, rising higher with each practiced twist of his hand, and the heat of his mouth and his breath, and I hold him against me because I need time to figure out how to deal with this. I'm an Owl, I can _control_ myself, and I can _really_ control myself when the risk is losing the person who… Losing _Roy_.

I just need a moment or two, and I can buy myself that.

He meets my kiss without question, and my sounds — sharp inhalations, low groans, and the rare moan — are muffled between us as he winds me higher. I tighten my grip on the back of his shirt, and growl out, " _Napkins,_ " into the space between us. I'm not right there at the edge but I _know_ Roy, and he'll scramble for them if I get close.

He makes a noise that's something like acknowledgement, and his hand comes out of my hair and pushes between our torsos, grasping at my thigh for a second, groping. His hand closes around the couple that are left over with a crinkle of the cheap material, and then he shifts in my lap — I _don't_ let him pull away from the kiss — to straddle my thighs and face me, free hand pulling at the waistband of my slacks and boxers to pull them down far enough to free me and his other hand. I can feel him fumble a little bit, trying to arrange the napkins without actually being able to see the relative positions, but I trust him to get it right.

I smooth my hand over his back, almost desperately reaching down to find the edge of the shirt so I can slip my hand under it and feel the skin and muscle of his back. He makes another of those pleased noises into my mouth, hand jerking faster and just a little harder, and I fight not to curl my hand and scratch down his back. I stroke instead, following the curves and dips to the definitions, _feeling_ it shift in time with his hand.

"Roy!" I manage to get out, and it doesn't sound like a word to me but he seems to understand it anyway.

He makes some kind of sound that feels like encouragement, and _desire_ , and I fall over the edge. I gasp into his mouth, twisting the hand on his back so I can clench it into a fist without hurting him, keeping my hips mostly still through the wave and _crash_ of pleasure. I shudder, trying to steady the harsh drag of my breathing, and Roy's hand is soft and careful around me as I start to come back down. Our mouths are still together, but when he pulls back a little bit I let him.

I don't open my eyes, leaving my head leaned back against the wall behind me, but by the crinkle of the napkin and then the slight sound of an impact with what sounds like cardboard, I know what he's doing. His hand leaves me, his lips press against my jaw, and then he settles down against me, head resting on my shoulder.

"No rush, Jaybird," he says quietly. "Relax, enjoy it. I'm totally comfortable just like this and we've still got at least like, twenty minutes left on the movie." His hands settle against either side of my waist, his weight resting completely on me.

I take about a minute to get myself under control again. I slow my breathing down, deepening and easing it out in slow exhales until my heart stops pounding. The fuzziness to my thoughts goes away, and leaves behind just the normal tired layer and bone-deep satisfaction that tempt me to call it quits and just sleep here and now. It _is_ tempting, especially with Roy on top of me and obviously pretty much willing to just curl up and stay just where he is, but practicality does get its claws back into me after another couple minutes.

I drag my eyes open — in time to catch a flash of black on the screen in front of us; some kind of shadow dragon — and lower them, tilting my head down to take a lingering look at the relaxed arch of Roy's neck and the contrast of my hand still tangled in his hair. I carefully pull it free, tucking it all back behind his ear again and then turning my head to press a kiss to the side of his face, what isn't against my neck or too far down for me to reach. He stirs in response, and I can feel his mouth twist in a smile as his hands lightly stroke up over my ribs through the barrier of my shirt.

"All good, Jaybird?"

I make an affirming noise, not quite bothering with an actual 'yes.' Roy straightens up a few inches, enough to catch my mouth in a brief kiss before gently letting his hands slide down from my ribs to pull both my slacks and boxers back up.

I don't know if any of what I realized, any of this feeling clinging raw and new in my chest, is showing, but if it is he doesn't seem to notice. He doesn't react, anyway, and Roy really doesn't have the best poker face. He's not much of a liar, so I guess that means that I'm safe for now. I can figure out how to ignore all of this later, or how to shut it far enough away that no one ever needs to know. Don't fix something that isn't broken; what we have right now is more than enough for me.

The greedy, street rat parts of me hiss and demand that I cling to Roy and never let him go, want me to _scream_ the declaration at him so he realizes his own importance and never leaves, but they're also scared stiff and god I could _never_ tell him. Caring is dangerous, caring gets you _killed_ and _damn_ do I know that. It's a weakness, it's a vulnerability that other people can use against you, and I have enough of those as it is. I don't want to add Roy to that list. I don't want to make him a _target_ for anyone with a grudge against me, and that is a _long_ list of people.

"Jason?" Roy asks, and I jerk myself back to the present, away from the fear and this new certainty that I would kill, maim, and torture anyone who _dared_ to try hurting Roy to get to me.

"What?"

He tilts his head, looking at me, and I realize that he's done fixing up my pants. Apart from the proof his untucked shirt, and the smell clinging around us, you'd never know what we just did. "You were kinda drifting." He smiles, soft and there's something knowing to his eyes that scares me, but his words come out teasing. "Guess I did my job, huh?"

An out. Permission and even an invitation not to tell him what's on my mind. The small smile that slowly curls the corners of my mouth up is real — I just, he's… _God_ — and I raise my hand to gently cup his jaw and pull him in for another soft kiss. Just for a second.

"Yeah, you did." My smile turns into more of a smirk, and I tease, "I'm officially in the 'great' category, promise."

He laughs, and then braces a hand on my chest to push himself up as he swings his leg over, turning and settling heavily back into his unoccupied seat next to me. I automatically adjust to wrap my arm around his shoulders. "Good. Now I just gotta keep you up there. The movie's awful, and I _totally_ took responsibility for that, but the next stop is gonna be way better, promise."

"Still a surprise?" I ask, turning my head to press my nose to the top of his head.

He snorts and immediately comes back with, "Well _obviously_. Take my plans as they come, Jaybird. Barring a random ambush I promise everything will be totally smooth, though we _are_ going to have to deal with the paparazzi when we leave here, and they're gonna track us to the next stop. Crowd, flashing lights, people shouting questions and studying. You gonna be alright with that, or should I tell the driver to pick us up off some random exit door?"

He reaches for his drink as I think about it, and is swallowing his first mouthful of the horrendously red liquid when I figure out exactly what my answer is.

"I'll be just fine." I idly reach for my own drink, and the caffeine addicted part of me swears it can taste the caffeination in the Mountain Dew but I know that's just a mental trick. I know the depths my head can sink to when I haven't had caffeine in a few days, and the tricks my body's senses pull to try to get me to drink more of it. I set the drink back down and squeeze my arm around Roy's shoulders. "We're already going to set the rumor mills going, want to leave it at that or should we give them something to _really_ talk about?"

He looks up at me, barely squinting and maybe a little mockingly wary, and asks, "What did you have in mind?"

"How attached are you to your reputation?" I counter, and he snorts.

"What reputation?" His legs stretch out and then he pulls them up and rests his feet on top of the row of seats in front of us. "Star City is pretty convinced that I'm the irresponsible son spending his dad's money and getting involved with all _kinds_ of terrible shit. You know Oliver actually convinced the media I was an addict at one point?"

"Heard that, yeah." That was while I was busy trying to kill the rest of my family, but I kept up to date on the important players. Red Archer is one of Bruce's favorite subordinates, so I watched him closer than most others. I didn't really know Roy at that point, but the whole thing reeked of a cover-up to me. "It was some kind of cover wasn't it?"

Roy nods, head against my shoulder and gaze idly turned forwards, towards the screen. "Yeah. I got my ass handed to me and needed a couple months to heal up. He explained me not being around by telling the media I was in rehab." He flaps the hand not busy holding his drink in some kind of vague gesture, a small grin curving his mouth and flashing teeth. "Anyway, point being, I really haven't got a reputation. Oliver might be kinda pissed if you're like, stripping me on public television, but there's not much you could actually do to make them think worse of me."

That's good to know. It's kind of new to me as a way to keep a secret identity well, secret, but it makes sense. Mostly I'm used to the Wayne family way of having the perfect, smiling, eligible bachelors of the world. All, of course, far too busy to actually commit to anyone. Especially Bruce and, as attention shifted with the announcement, Tim, the new heir to Wayne Enterprises. It's good for him, really. Tim's definitely the most qualified of us to actually run a business. Dick would get bored, Damian's too vicious, and I'm legally dead even if I wouldn't start murdering employees within a week. Tim's got the mind for it.

"Then how about you just wait and see what I do?" I offer, smirking and not _really_ expecting him to go for it.

Give up that kind of control, especially to me? I'm not exactly the most restrained, and I definitely haven't got a good record of doing what people expect me to. He'd be _crazy_ to trust me with him in front of cameras, and risk whatever little reputation he's got left.

He looks up at me for a few seconds, and then nods. "Alright."

Of course, he _is_ fucking crazy. Not my kind of crazy, but he just… I don't understand how he can trust me like that. He _has_ to know I'm not worth all of this.

Roy leans up, kissing me softly, slowly, and smiling when he eventually pulls away. "I'm surprising you, right? Turnabout's fair play." Which is actually not such a weird way to look at things. I guess I can understand that, at least. "Besides, what're you going to do? Pants me?" His eyes widen a little bit, and he quickly adds, "Not a suggestion."

I shake my head, leaning in to catch his mouth because it feels so _good_ to kiss him, and I'm going to take every single opportunity I can to enjoy it. "Nothing like that, promise."

"Then I'm totally looking forward to it." He edges a bit more on top of me, and pushes his head into the space on top of my collar bone, beneath my chin. "Now, have you got any idea where the movie was at?"

I grab my drink, vaguely returning my attention to the screen. "Something about two dragons, an elf, and some dumb human shit?" I hazard, mostly guessing.

Roy nods. "Yeah, that sounds right."

I tilt my head down and close my eyes, and Roy keeps talking — mocking the movie — but I don't answer. I'm just going to take these moments between us, where I have him all to myself, and I'm going to enjoy them. I can think about my realization later, and worry, and plan, and _everything_ , but not now. Later. Right now all I want is to listen to his random comments, breathe in his scent, and feel him against me.

I don't need anything else.


	2. Chapter 2

Welcome to chapter 2! So, this is the final part of it, roughly as long as the first. Not much to say about it, but I hope you enjoy! Not sure what will go up on Monday, but it will be something interesting. XD If you have a specific request, feel free to check what I've got finished and ready (on my profile page) and send me a PM either there or on Tumblr asking for one of those. Otherwise, dealer's choice!

Enjoy!

* * *

Roy's chattering away at my side, commentary about the movie, as we leave the auditorium. Mostly about the movie anyway. I'm partially paying attention, enough to catch the basic gist of what he's saying. Mostly, I'm caught up watching the easy twist of his mouth and the joy in his eyes.

I still don't understand how he can be that easy, relaxed, and _open_ , but it's amazing to watch. _He's_ amazing to watch. His fingers are interlaced with mine, holding them loosely and keeping our shoulders close together. They brush about every other step. If this wasn't Roy, the closeness would probably either make me paranoid or really interested in getting even closer, but it's _Roy_. It's just nice and comfortable, and that's not something that's familiar but I know I like it.

He shifts ahead to push open the doors, holding them open for me to slip past him. "So, what did you think, Jason?"

I give a small shrug. "Terrible movie." I tug him a little closer by our joined hands, reaching up to touch the side of his face. I kiss him, shallow and soft. He makes a happy hum of approval, and doesn't chase me as I pull back to rest my forehead against his. "Good entertainment. Thank you."

His hand squeezes down on mine. "Of course, Jaybird," he answers, a soft, content note to his voice. Then he tilts to catch my mouth again, just for a brush of lips. "Night's not over, either. Ready for dinner?"

I breathe out and pull away from him. I don't _want_ to — I want to stay pressed up against him for at least another hour, just breathing him in — but I can prioritize. I'm good at that. "When you are."

I open my eyes in time to see him smile, and then he's squeezing my hand again and turning away. I step up to join him, and we walk down the carpeted hallway and towards the entrance of the theater. I wince for a moment at the crowd of paparazzi outside the glass windows, and the instant flashes of cameras when we step into view. I must hesitate for a fraction of a second, or he must be watching me, because Roy immediately tugs briefly at my hand to get my attention.

"You sure you're alright with walking through them?" he asks, voice pitched low and only for my ears, even though the only employee in view is the manager, or owner maybe, and he's standing at the glass doors.

"I'll manage."

"That's not what I asked, Jaybird," he points out. "Kinda the point of this night. You don't have to do _anything_ you don't want to. I can work something else out, no problem. All you've gotta do is say the word."

The thoughtfulness takes my breath for a second. I force myself to push away all the wariness about the crowd and how aggressive they'll probably be. "I'll be fine, Roy. Can't promise anything if one of them grabs me."

"If they grab you that's assault." He nudges my shoulder with his. "No one out there is that stupid, and if they are they're not going to go after you for defending yourself." He falls silent as we get close enough to the manager to be within earshot, but doesn't relinquish his loose grip on my hand. Not even at the obvious flick of the manager's gaze to our interlaced fingers.

"A pleasure to have you, Mr. Harper," is what he says, with a bright smile that feels pretty fake. "Enjoy the rest of your night."

"Oh, definite plans to," Roy answers easily, as the manager pulls open the door and steps aside.

The flash of cameras intensifies, and I let Roy lead the way out. I can feel the slight tightening of his fingers at the bombardment of questions they start shouting at us, and the jostle of cameras and microphones as they try to get us to answer. They also part in front of us though, even if it constantly feels like Roy's next step is going to send him crashing into the wall of them. I stay in his wake, letting his experience get him through the crowd and trying not to let the slight wariness building in my chest get any higher.

The driver is standing at the passenger door of the limo, face schooled into a blank expression with a tinge of distaste in the corners of his mouth. Aimed at the crowd, not at us. He opens the door as we get closer, moving around it to stay partially in the way. Roy breaks free first and pulls me with him. One reporter gets shoved a little bit forward by the crowd and almost hits Roy, but she recovers enough to shout her question all but right into his face.

"Mr. Queen! Is your companion a friend, or more?!"

I can feel the slight rigid tension that sweeps through Roy, maybe at the question or maybe at the proximity. "It's _Harper_ ," he corrects, with a grin that I don't even have to fully see to know is fake. His tone is warning enough. "Strangely, I still haven't changed my name. We're not answering any questions."

I don't know what comes over me. But I know that hearing that kind of a tone from Roy — unhappy, tight, with a hint of restrained anger — wakes a sharp protectiveness in me, and an urge to distract him. I can do both. "I think we can answer just one." I pitch my voice loud enough to carry, with a hint of the command that I've picked up from Bruce and Dick over the years. It quiets the crowd for _just_ a moment, and a moment is all I need.

I let go of Roy's hand — he's looking at me with surprise — and reach up. I cup the side of his face that's turned towards the limo and pull him closer, up and into a kiss. It's more a show than anything sweeter, but I keep my free hand restrained to just touching his waist, even if I want to loop my arm around it and drag him closer. I can't resist flicking my tongue across the seam of his lips, but I can feel him ease into the kiss, feel him _smile_ , so I don't bother restraining that. It feels longer than the couple of seconds that I let us stay joined before I pull back. The crowd is back to shouting, but it doesn't do anything to disturb the easy peace in my chest. Not this time.

I put some gentle pressure on Roy's waist, trusting him to understand the silent communication. He flicks a small grin, real this time, and then moves to obey the instruction. I turn partially back to the crowd as Roy climbs into the limo, meeting their gazes and shouts evenly before I follow him inside. The door shuts as I take a seat next to Roy, who immediately turns into me and rests his head against my shoulder. His hand soothes up my thigh, and then he gives a soft laugh and presses closer.

I can feel the car start, and watch out the tinted window as we pull away from the curb. Then I turn my attention down to Roy, and raise my hand to touch his, where it's resting on my upper thigh. "You didn't mind that, right?" I ask, trying not to be paranoid and take his silence as rejection of me taking control like that.

I know that Roy doesn't mind — _enjoys_ — being taken control of in a bedroom, but in public? He told me I could do what I wanted to, but usually people mean that right up until they actually have to deal with what I do. Kissing him in public, when as far as I know his persona has been pretty much straight, is definitely crossing some kind of line. But he _told_ me I could do it, and he's told me before that if he says I can do something, then I can do it. I trust him, _god_ , I promise I do, but it's hard to take his word for things like this. It's so _important_ and I just screw up everything I touch, I'd understand if he rescinded his permission to do what I wanted after this.

I mean, I _wanted_ to pin him back against the limo, or grab his ass, or dip him into a kiss where I could actually do a bit more groping. I held back, I swear I did. He didn't seem to mind, and—

"Didn't mind it?" he says quietly, and I shut down my mental process and focus on his voice. "Jason, that was _perfect_."

I ease, relaxing out of tension I didn't even realize I was carrying. "Really?" I ask, and I'll deny that my voice cracks until the day I die.

He raises his head from my shoulder. His eyes are soft, and his mouth is curved in a small grin that's not anything but happiness and gentle pride. I _try_ and find anything else in his body language and his expression, but I can't. He moves, swinging his leg up and around and settling firmly over my lap. I can't help swallowing, or relaxing underneath the gentle touch to the sliver of my chest that's exposed, and then to my left cheek.

"Promise, Jaybird," Roy murmurs, leaning in. He kisses me, tracing his hand back along my cheek and into my hair, gripping just hard enough to guide my head to a better angle. I rest my hands on his hips, letting him have control and being… strangely okay with it. Roy would never hurt me on purpose, and I know damn well that if he _did_ hurt me he'd back off _immediately_. That's beyond important.

I flex my hands on his hips, giving a soft groan at the feeling of him on top of me. His hand strokes along the skin exposed by the undone top few buttons of my shirt, and his other tightens a little bit in my hair. He echoes my groan with a quiet sound of approval, rocking his hips down into me. He pulls back, inhaling slightly raggedly and keeping our faces within inches of each other. I open my eyes; his are still closed.

"You're _amazing_ , Jaybird." My throat clenches shut; my hands tighten on his hips. "That was _perfect_ ; I couldn't have planned a better comeback if I tried."

I _shouldn't_ say it, but before I can even think about swallowing the words back down they're already out of my mouth. "You were unhappy. I— I had to do something."

Because my eyes are open I watch when his snap wide, and can see the surprise in them. I meet his gaze evenly, trying not to betray any of the swirling _mess_ of feelings in my chest. Now is really not the time to try and deal with this thing — _love_ — that's stubbornly forced its way in to make a nest in my sternum, or show anyone how easily they could wound me with a single well-aimed blow. I need time alone to figure out exactly what Roy is to me, what I feel for him, and what I'm going to do about it. Until I get that time, I _can't_ think about any of this. Roy can't know until I'm sure I _want_ him to.

Roy stares at me for a long few seconds, and then melts into a soft smile and leans back in to kiss me again. It's softer this time, and only lasts a moment before he pulls away. "Thank you," he says quietly, with a second soft brush of lips to mine. "I appreciate the rescue, oh knight in shining armor."

I snort before I can restrain the reaction. "Shining armor gets you killed, and you're hardly a princess."

"I could totally rock a dress," he counters, _instantly_. "I mean, definitely got some hair on my legs and a little on my chest, but it would get hidden. Got the long hair and everything, I could make it work. Why, you thinking about me in a dress?"

A laugh bursts out of my throat, and then it's shaking my shoulders and I have to lean forward and muffle it against his shoulder. _God_ , Roy in a _dress_? With _his_ kind of muscle? I laugh harder, my chest protesting the expelling of oxygen but I can't even bring myself to care. I _know_ that I could probably make it realistic. I mean, it's practically a rite of passage for every Owl to dress up as a woman at some point, but _fuck_. Roy's shoulders are wide, and he might have enough of a v shaped torso to fake curves but his arms are _way_ too muscular to easily pass as a woman's.

Though — my laugh cuts off, and I take in a sharp breath — I bet with a bit of makeup Roy would look _stunning_. Maybe still not able to pass as a woman, but he'd be _gorgeous_ with some lines to emphasize his eyes and a complimentary shade of lipstick, something dark, to accentuate his mouth. _Fuck_.

"Woah, how did _that_ thought process go, Jaybird?"

Roy's hand are still gentle, but obviously he noticed the change in my breathing. It would have been pretty hard to miss that I stopped laughing. I stroke my hands up from his hips, along his waist, and tilt my head so I can press my mouth against the side of his neck. I _barely_ manage to keep myself from biting down to mark him, or from sucking his skin between my teeth. No marks above what his shirt will cover; at least not until I know what the rest of his plans are. Instead I nudge my nose into the side of his throat, exhaling a little shakily.

"Just images," I murmur against his skin.

"Tell me," Roy prompts, his fingers gripping the back of my neck and squeezing rhythmically, working into my slightly tensed muscle. I give a soft groan of appreciation, easing into how solid he is. Not unmoveable — a twist of my hips and a shove of my hands would send him sprawling — but just _there_ , and not going to wilt or fall over at the first hint of pressure.

I soften my grip on his waist, almost _feeling_ the slow relaxation of my muscle underneath his touch. "You know how _gorgeous_ you would be with a bit of good makeup?" I manage to get out. "Bit of eyeliner to emphasize your eyes, lipstick to do the same to your mouth. You'd probably never pass for a woman but you'd look _so_ good. It's not your face, it's the muscle in your arms that'd give you away."

"I'll keep that in mind." Roy's lips find the side of my neck, and press small kisses up the side of it and to my jaw. "Kinda late now, but maybe next time we do something special I can get someone to fix me up for you. I'll get pictures and everything."

I pull back, unable to find any kind of teasing note in his voice. "Wait, are you serious?"

Roy catches my mouth, giving a small noise of enjoyment and rolling down into me again before drawing away. "Well, yeah. Of course I am. You want; I'll give. Simple as that, Jaybird."

I stare up at him. Simple? That's not _simple_. That's insane, it's totally nuts, I'm half _mad_ myself and the things I could ask for… "That's a really dangerous thing to offer me," I warn him. "I don't know how many times I can say it but you're _insane_. You should know better than to give someone like me that kind of freedom."

He gives a slow smile and tilts his head a bit to one side. "I don't believe you'd hurt me on purpose," he says simply. "And whatever you believe, I think that you're a lot more considerate of other people's boundaries than you think you are." He gives a small laugh, leaning in for one more brush of lips. "Jesus, Jaybird. If you haven't taken advantage of me while you had me pinned or tied down and totally at your mercy, why the hell would you do it with a few words of a promise?"

I swallow, completely unable to even _understand_ how Roy can trust someone as messed up and questionably sane as me. With the Pit in the back of my head, my nightmares, all my paranoias, and my triggers… How the _hell_ did he ever think that being with me was a good idea? Why is he still here? He could do so much better than me. He _has_ done so much better than me; Koriand'r is a _princess_ , not a street rat from a neighborhood that it would be best to set on fire and never talk about again.

Roy strokes his fingers down the back of my neck, and then clasps his hand over my shoulder. His smile falls so he's serious, intent as he meets my gaze and watches me. "Jason," he starts, "I trust you to stop if I need you to. Even if you don't trust yourself, _I_ do. Got that?"

My hands tighten again as I stare at him. He _can't_ mean that, can he? Roy _knows_ some of how messed up my head is, and what the Pit did to me. Not all of it, but enough that he shouldn't even be able to think about trusting me to be able to control myself all the time. I _can't_ do that, I know I can't. All the times I've had to separate myself from the rest of my family and hide away, just to keep them safe from me, pretty much killed that belief.

I'm not always safe to be around. _Most_ of the time I'm not safe to be around, not really.

"You shouldn't," I manage, my throat tight.

"I do," he says easily, raising both of his hands to gently cup my face. "You always have my trust, Jason. You've never given me any reason to think you'd betray it." He leans in, and I'm stuck so far in disbelief and pain that I can't bring myself to really respond. "I'm not saying that I'm just going to throw caution out the window; I _am_ a strategist thank you very much. I don't fuck around with people's traumas, Jaybird. I'll stick to what you need from me, and if you need me gone then I can do that too."

He gives a very small smile. "Remember, Jaybird? If I ever make you uncomfortable you've got full permission to hit me for it. And whatever you need, all you ever have to do is say something. Doesn't matter what it is."

"Why?" I ask, trying to figure out a reason in his expression, in his eyes. But I don't _understand_ what I can see.

It's not like Roy loves me. He loves Koriand'r; I've seen the proof of that a hundred times over. Maybe we have some great sex, maybe we move well together on a battlefield, and maybe we're even something like friends, but it's not more than that. I know Roy is a pretty loyal person, and I know he's stepped in to defend me a couple of times, but that doesn't really mean anything. What part of what I give him makes him willing to put up with all of my bullshit? The sex is great but it's not worth this much, is it?

Roy's mouth curves into a slightly brighter smile, and his thumbs — slightly rough with calluses — brush over my cheeks. "I like you. I like being _around_ you. That's enough for me, Jaybird." His smile slips into a small grin, and there's something knowing in his eyes but it doesn't translate into his tone of voice. "Plus, the package that is you comes with probably the best sex I've ever had, so it would take something pretty drastic to make me burn that bridge."

I can read between the lines, but I can't make myself do anything but take the casual out he's given me. I don't know if I want to take that next step and figure out exactly what it is that he's not saying. I don't know if I want him to figure out the things _I'm_ not saying.

"Just using me for the physical benefits, huh?" I make sure my tone is teasing, as I force myself to ease out and loosen my grip on him. I stroke my hands up his waist, brushing my knuckles against his sides through the thin protection of his shirt.

"Never turning those benefits down," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss me.

His hands gently guide my head, tilting me up into the press of his lips. Against my better judgment I relax, incapable of doing anything else underneath his hands but be at ease. That shouldn't be true. People being too close to me, at my back, or doing something even vaguely like holding me down always makes me panic a bit. But not with Roy.

I've woken up some mornings with him behind me, one arm loosely around my waist and his breath between my shoulder blades. Even with Dick that would freak me out. I could breathe through it, and I could get over it, but I would still panic before thinking about it. It's never happened with Roy. I expect it to, every time, but it never has. I don't know how I manage to always be at ease around him, other than my working theory that it's because I've never felt threatened by him.

I know that Dick is a real threat, even if I don't believe he'd hurt me without a good reason. But Roy isn't one of the Owls; he's not trained as well as us. I could defend myself against him without a problem. If he's not a threat, I don't have to worry about where he might be or how he might be touching me.

Roy's hand sweeps down my neck, clasping over my shoulder and kneading his fingers into my muscle. He doesn't hold back much of the strength that being an archer gives him, and I let a groan out of my throat to tell him that I appreciate the feeling. I can feel the tiny hitch of his breath, even if I can't hear it, and I pull him a little closer into me. I sweep my right hand up his back, tangling my fingers in his hair and keeping him in the kiss. Not that he seems to have any inclination to pull away from me. In fact, he deepens the kiss; tongue flicking across my lips in mimicry of what I did earlier. I can't help parting my mouth and letting him dip his tongue between my teeth.

Finally he pulls away, and I let him.

"We've still got dinner." His voice is soft, and just breathless enough that I want to make it even more that way. That I want to lean in and give him a mark the world _will_ see, not just the ones hidden beneath his shirt. "After," he promises, hand slipping away from the slice of exposed skin on my chest. "So much after. You know sometimes I'm amazed I manage to think of anything but sex around you." His tone is gently teasing, but emphasized by the still breathy quality of it.

"You're the one straddling me," I point out, easing my hand out of his hair and then sliding it down the line of his spine. He arches just a little bit underneath my touch, at the same time as he gives a small grin and a laugh.

"Fair point." Roy slowly pulls away from me, giving a small sound of reluctance. I release my grip, letting him settle himself next to me. His thigh is still pressed against mine, and he leans into my arm and finds my left hand with his right. His fingers interlace with mine, and he leans far enough in to brush his lips across mine.

"So, dinner?" I ask, as his head settles on my shoulder. I take a glance out the window, but don't immediately recognize the street. I'm not that familiar with Star City's layout, to be fair.

"Dinner," he confirms. "Same rules, Jaybird. If you really want to know, I'll tell you, but I'd like it to be a secret till we get there. If you're alright with that."

I shove out a breath, squeezing his fingers. "Yeah, that's fine. Fuck, how much work did you put into this, Roy? The theater alone, that's a _lot_ of money."

He shrugs. "Like money means much of anything to me. I bet Oliver doesn't even notice until Dinah points it out, and they'll both shrug it off as some extravagance to uphold the cover. Or Ollie will anyway; he's _great_ at ignoring the fact that I actually sleep with people who aren't female. Dinah," he makes a noise that sounds like a verbalized wince, "this and the headlines will get me twenty questions, but I can avoid it. If you want. Hey, probably should have asked, are you alright with my parents knowing we're dating? Heavy quotation on 'parents' there."

My mind sticks on one word, of _course_. "Dating?" I echo, watching the top of his head.

He looks up, green eyes a little bit startled. "Well, I guess? I mean, this _is_ a date — that was the point — and that generally means people are dating, and I'd _like_ it not to be the last date either. But if you don't want to put a word to it that's fine, Jaybird." He gives a small grin, giving a totally absurd wiggle of his eyebrows. "I can be your sugar daddy."

I can't help the snort, nearly choking on how utterly unexpected his last sentence was. I close my eyes for a second to recover, to stop the laughter bubbling at my throat. His lips press against the side of my neck, I can _feel_ the grin, and my mouth curls in a small smile.

"You're ridiculous," I murmur, flicking my eyes back open and meeting his gaze.

"Still proud of that," he answers without missing a beat. "You want to think about it, Jaybird?"

I consider for a moment — think about all the implications of actually giving this thing between us a _name_ — and then nod. "Yeah. Just give me the night; I'll have an answer for you."

He echoes my nod, and leans in to press another soft kiss to my throat. "Just gonna put this out there. Don't do anything because you think you should, Jay, or because you think it's what I want you to do. I'm happy to take you out whenever you want, whatever words you do or don't want to put to it. Your choice."

I swallow, that damn _feeling_ rising in my chest again and bursting up my throat. _Love_. "Thanks," I manage to get out. He meets me halfway when I lean down, brushing our lips together. I turn a little bit in the seat, to raise my free right hand and trace my fingers across the side of his face. So I can gently cup it, just to hold him in even a small way.

How did I ever get as lucky as him? I mean, it's not going to last. He'll get bored, or realize how much of a mess I am and that it's not going to get any better, or figure out that he's already got a woman he loves and keeping me entertained on the side is a waste of his time. I know that, and it's going to _hurt_. Especially now that I've realized that I might… God, that I might _love_ him.

But until then, I'm going to take and hoard _every_ moment I can around him. When it's done, at least I'll still be able to look back and remember all of this. Guess it could be worse. I could have fallen in love with a straight man, or with someone who isn't as ridiculously amazing and kind as Roy is. It could have been so much worse.

I don't let him pull away from the kiss until I'm sure I've smoothed my expression out again, and even then I have to pause for a moment with our faces just a breath apart. To make sure that I'm not going to open my mouth and say something stupid and revealing. He doesn't seem to mind the pause, if his small, satisfied noise is any kind of a tell.

His fingers gently squeeze mine, and when I let him pull away all he does is tuck his head down against my shoulder and relax into me. I turn my head to bury my nose in his hair, letting go of the side of his face and lowering my hand back down to the seat next to me. I stay slightly turned towards him, taking comfort in his scent and the feel of him against me. I let my eyes stay closed, and give up the thought of trying to track where we are by how the car is moving.

I don't know Star City that well — I could do it in Gotham — and anyway, somehow I really do trust Roy. I can let him have his surprise; I know the chance that it's going to be something that will freak me out is low. Roy's got a pretty good handle on the paranoid bits of me, and the Pit mad ones. I also know that if it _does_ freak me out, all I have to do is give even a little bit of a hint, or say a word, and he'll immediately forget the plans and make something else up. There aren't enough words in the _world_ to communicate how much that means to me. Especially not just limited to English, and whatever other languages Roy might know pieces of.

Maybe there are enough in the universe, or the galaxy, but not in just our world.

I let myself relax.

Eventually the car slows down, stops completely, and I feel Roy's head shift. Probably just enough that he can look out the window. "We're here," he says softly, and a moment later the limo shuts off.

I draw my head back so he can straighten up, and watch him instead of giving in to the nagging urge to look out the window and see where we are. He squeezes my hand once, and I obey the silent request to let go of him, albeit reluctantly. I can dimly hear the driver door shut, and then after a few moments the door on my side opens. I take the lead, climbing out and looking up at the building we're in front of.

I move aside to let Roy out, narrowing my eyes a little bit. I wait until he's standing next to me, and the driver is circling back around to the other side of the limo, to point out, "This is your home." Well, specifically, it's a really fancy apartment building that the Queen family owns the top five floors of. Roy's floor, I'm fairly sure, is the very middle one. The point being, there's definitely not a restaurant anywhere in there, or any other place that might serve food.

"Trust, Jaybird," Roy says with a small smile. "Come on, before the press realize they're following a different limo and catch up to harass us."

I give him a slight look, but follow when he confidently heads for the front, double door of the building. It's black-tinted glass, with an entry panel on the left side that looks a lot like the kind found in most hotels. I'd bet that it's pretty reinforced — rich people usually pay for decent security in the place they call home — but I don't spend too much time inspecting it. Instead, my focus falls to the plastic swipe card that Roy pulls out of the right pocket of his slacks, and the way he slips it across the panel without a moment of pause. Clearly it's something he's done enough to be familiar with, and completely at ease about.

The panel flicks a green light, and Roy puts his hand on one of the bars across the front and pushes. Then steps aside and gives me a small grin, holding it open. "After you."

I take the invitation, brushing his arm with my fingers as I pass by and into the building. It's a very nice lobby, really _not_ too different from a hotel. There are scattered couches, armchairs, and low coffee tables, all in either darker wood or a safe beige color. The floor is a thick, patterned carpet in tones of darker browns with spots of bright color, except in a wide strip that leads to the elevator on the back right side of the room. That floor is an off-white marble, polished to a sheen that makes the street rat parts of me simultaneously want to get it as dirty as possible, and not even step on it.

There's a reception desk at the back of the room, close to the wall and clearly built to be as discreet as possible. One lone female employee sits at it, with short black hair and glasses, though I can't see the color of her eyes from here. Roy probably can; his eyesight is better than mine when it comes to long distance.

Roy lets the door fall closed — I can hear the click of an automatic lock — and comes up beside me. He casually links our hands, pausing just a moment before leading me along the strip of marble and towards the elevator. I watch the receptionist, noting that she's obviously practiced at her job. She manages to not stare at both of us as we get closer, while simultaneously making enough eye contact, with enough smiles, to make it obvious she's not busy either.

She stands as we get close enough, hands clasping in front of her formal grey suit top, at the line where it's tucked into an equally grey pencil skirt. "Welcome home, Mr. Harper," she greets, and her smile actually feels real. "Would you like a temporary card for your guest?" Her gaze turns to me for a moment, and my estimation rises another notch. Not keeping attention solely on the person she knows has money; well done.

Roy offers back a smile I know is practiced — it's the 'Queen' smile — and gives a small shake of his head. "No, thank you. We'll be together."

Not even a flicker of distaste, or surprise. "Of course, Mr. Harper. If you require anything, please feel free to give me a call."

Another smile, and Roy tugs me towards the elevator. Another swipe of his card opens the doors, and we both step in. There aren't buttons on the inside — except an emergency one — instead there's a third swipe point, and a black screen that lights up when Roy's card finishes the required swipe. The doors close, and I watch Roy as he interacts with the touch screen. It looks practiced, more like muscle memory than something it requires conscious thought for him to do. Five options pop up, with the floor numbers, and he chooses the middle one. So, I was right.

Unless he's taking me to a floor other than his own, of course. Which, speaking of…

"So, where are Oliver and Dinah?" I ask, as the elevator accepts the command and smoothly starts to rise.

Roy snorts. "It's Valentine's day," he says, like that should be an answer. "They're off somewhere remote and halfway across the world for the week. Just me here." He turns a little bit towards me, leans into my side for a moment, and squeezes my hand. "And you, now."

"Oh, so she gets the deluxe treatment?" I tease, meeting his lean and lowering my head to press a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Well," Roy hedges, "I figured stealing you away for a week, without any warning, was probably a bad idea. But hey, when you do want that week I'm down. We can go somewhere gorgeous, walk around naked, have great sex." I give a snort, and he echoes it with a laugh. "Come back with tans and freak everyone out. It'd be great fun."

" _That's_ your takeaway?"

He tilts his head back, catching my mouth in a brief kiss. "Maybe I got distracted by the idea of seeing you lounge around naked," he says quietly. "Alright, now I'm attached to this idea. We've gotta do that at some point."

The elevator gives a soft ding, drawing to a stop, and I can almost feel the reluctance in the way Roy pulls away. Or maybe that's me projecting. The doors open, and I follow as he steps outside. It doesn't lead immediately into the floor, but to a smaller, roughly ten foot wide corridor with a single door. It's really not that different than the hotel floor I keep rented out in Gotham as one of my safe houses. The elevator closes behind us, heads back off to the ground floor with the hum of machinery, and Roy steps forward to the door. One last swipe of his card opens it, and he finally tucks it away in his pocket as he pushes the door open.

The room inside is cozier than I expected. It opens into a joint living room and kitchen, with a closed door to the back that looks like it might be a bedroom or something similar. The furniture is all high quality, but the kind of high quality that's heaven to lay on, and not the kind that's fancy but ultimately uncomfortable. The living room is sunk down a few steps into a pit, and between the large glass windows that take up most of the one wall — giving a sparkling view of the city from high enough you can't see the flaws — there's a black marbled fireplace with yellow and orange flames roaring within. In the middle of the arranged couches and chairs there's a low glass table, and over it is an array of dishes and food, still _steaming._

I stay very still, staring at it, until a hand at my arm — _very_ lightly tracing down from my shoulder and lingering at my elbow — snaps me out of it. I turn my head, looking over at Roy, who's got a small smile curling his mouth. There's also a look in his eyes that reminds me of back in the theater, like something about my reaction has him wondering whether he's screwed up. A slight tightness to his eyes, concern, and just a little bit of worry.

"You alright, Jaybird?" he asks softly. I recognize the way he's staying just a few inches away from me, our only point of contact being the light touch of his fingers at my elbow, just below the rolled up sleeve of my shirt. He wasn't lying, he _is_ careful.

Roy probably knows more about how screwed up I am than most other people, and normally I don't notice the small things like this but right now it's coming in loud and clear. He's giving me a bit of space, making sure he's not crowding me in case I _am_ freaking out for any or no reason, but also maintaining that small touch of fingers to remind me that he's here. How the hell did he ever get this good at managing me?

"Yeah, I'm alright." I swallow, and reach over with my opposite hand to grip the fingers at my elbow. I raise it to my mouth, pressing a small kiss to the back of his knuckles, and he nearly _glows._ "Delivery?" I ask, confirming the ideas collecting in my head.

He gives a small nod, shifting his weight to be just a little closer to me. "You think I was going to subject you to a restaurant?" he asks, with a tiny bit of sarcasm. "Strangers, and strangers serving you _food?_ You'd be watching them and studying exit points all night, and I wanted your attention on me and the food." His smile slips into a very soft grin. "Did I do alright, Jay?"

I can't help the small laugh that leaves my throat, and I close my eyes for a moment. "Yeah, Roy. This is good. Thank you."

"No need," he answers, gently pulling at my hand. "Come on, Jaybird. Figured simple but high quality was probably better. Those tiny little fancy meals are always kind of questionable. You can have as much or as little as you want; whatever doesn't get eaten can get saved."

I follow the pull, and he leads me into the room and down the few shallow steps to the sunken area. I can feel the heat of the fire against my skin — not close or high enough to be uncomfortable — as he takes a seat on the ground in front of the couch, legs stretching out underneath the glass table. I mimic him, pressing my back against the low, but firm, front end of the couch. We're facing the fireplace, across the expanse of the table. I sit close enough to him to be pressed up against his side, and dip my head for a moment to brush a fleeting kiss across his jaw before pulling back. He gives a happy hum of sound that makes the whole thing worth it.

Moments of paranoia and revelations aside, I would relive every even vaguely uncomfortable moment of the last week a hundred times over if I could just hear that noise at the end of it all. That should scare me, shouldn't it?

Roy carefully tugs his hand out of my grip, and I catch his smile in my peripheral vision as I study the array of food. "Go ahead. There are plates and utensils, but I don't really care if you actually use them or not. I think most food can be finger food, and there are napkins and things so mess really doesn't matter."

Wayne manners — _really_ reinforced by Talia and Ra's — tell me to grab a plate anyway, but I firmly push the urging away. I'll take Roy at his word. That's what he told me to do, isn't it? Supposedly, if he offers me something, or tells me it's alright, then that's that. It's going to take a lot of practice to actually get used to accepting that. But I suppose I don't have any reason to doubt him, right? It's just my ingrained mistrust.

I reach down and tap his thigh to get his attention, and then lean in and kiss him. Just for a moment, just to ground myself because all of this feels like a dream. An unbelievable, perfect, _dream_ of a night. How am I ever going to repay Roy for this? I know what he'd say of course, if I brought it up. He'd smile, and maybe laugh, and tell me it's what he wanted to do. No need to repay him for that. It doesn't change the fact that I _want_ to.

I want to give him something important enough that it actually even _vaguely_ starts to compare to what he's given me tonight. But what do I have? There are lots of things that I keep hidden or buried inside me, but those are because they make me uncomfortable, or because thinking about them or even _starting_ to actually try doing them is grounds for panic. I want to give him something, but it has to be something I can go through with too. I'll have to think about it. It doesn't have to be _now_.

Roy gives another of those soft, happy noises as I pull away, and then murmurs, "That was nice. Distracting, but nice."

"That's kind of the point," I answer. "Going to bring up the 'later' thing again? Remind me dinner is right there?"

Another soft grin curls his mouth. "Stole the words right out of my mouth, Jaybird. I mean, we could do the whole 'feed each other' thing but it sort of takes forever and never works as well as people want it to."

I snort, touching his thigh again for just a moment, just to feel him. "Yeah, let's avoid that whole thing. You're right, food first. So, what did you get?"

It turns out it's a pretty wide variety — Roy didn't know exactly what I liked so he just got a bunch of different things — and pretty much everything is delicious. It's standard, nothing especially fancy, but even though it's normal types of food it was obviously made by a very good chef, with good ingredients. I can only imagine the cost of all of it, and for the sake of staying in a good mood I try not to think about it. Especially about the cost of the whole night, and the screaming part of me that insists I'm not worth any of it.

We polish off a pretty big chunk of the food, and then I help him fit all the leftovers into containers and put them away. He tries to insist that he can do it and I don't have to, but I roll over his protests and help anyway. If he's going to be treating me the whole night, then I'm at least going to do a bit of the manual work. Roy's sweet, but I don't think I could stand just sitting and watching him do all the work. Not without guilt, anyway.

Finally, everything is cleared away. I tuck the last of the empty boxes into the trash — the automatic lid nearly closes on my hand — and then close my eyes as Roy presses up against my side. I turn, sliding my hands around his torso and letting them rest high between his shoulder blades and at his low back. His hands stay at my waist, and he leans up to kiss me. I meet him halfway.

There's a little more passion to this one, and he's a little more insistent. Still, his hands don't leave my waist, they only flex a little tighter. It's still a slower kiss, but it's more like a rolling, gathering heat than a gentle confirmation like they have been. I pull him a little harder against me, feeling my own breath hitch at the press of his muscled frame against mine, and he gives a quiet, muffled groan into my mouth.

Then he breaks the kiss with a small laugh. "You know, I have dessert too."

"Don't even _joke_ ," I say, only semi-serious and with a small smirk. "Later. Whatever you've got, it can't taste as good as you."

The words click in my head, and just like that I know what I want to do for Roy. It's not exactly original, and it's sure not romantic or anything like that, but I've never done it before. Not since I died anyway. Not to him, and not to Dick. But Roy is _safe_ , he's _so_ safe, and I'm almost completely certain it's not going to be a problem. It's crude, but I'm not exactly the most elegant of people so I guess that's fine.

"That's sweet, Jaybird," Roy says, clearly oblivious to the thoughts in my head. He's got a small grin on his face, and his hands give a gentle squeeze before he speaks again. "I think dessert will be an excellent way to break up _lots_ of sex. Bed?"

He's _ridiculous_. In a good way, in a way that makes me laugh, smile, and raises warm heat in my chest every time it happens, but he's still ridiculous. I think it's part of what makes me love him. God, _love_. I didn't think I was ever going to feel something like that again, and never like this.

Reluctantly, I draw my hands back and let him go. "Lead the way," I offer.

He takes my left hand, and steps back as he flashes a bright grin. I follow the slight tug of his hand, and let him lead me off deeper into the apartment. He takes me to the door that I noticed earlier, and assumed was probably a bedroom. Looks like I was right. He pushes it open, steps through, and I follow. The bed takes the center of the room — big, comfortable looking, and made of a more modern looking black wood than the ornate ones at Wayne manor — and arranged around it are the basics you'd expect in a bedroom. A large dresser, a mirror propped on top, a bookcase that looks mostly full of technical and engineering books, an end table to either side, lamps, and so on. One wall however, the one opposite our entrance, is a floor to ceiling window. There's a shade at the top that looks like it lowers down automatically, but right now it's open to a view of the night and the city.

"Welcome to my room," Roy says softly. "I figured roses and candles was probably just asking for scratches or a fire, but I've got all the supplies we could possibly need." He leans into me for a moment, and gives a slowly rising grin when I look at him. "Technically, Ollie and Dinah don't get back for another four days, and they always let me know when they're headed back. So if you want to just hole up here for that whole time, I am in total support. I'll even keep feeding you."

Four days to lounge around with Roy, have as much sex as either of us can stand, and just enjoy his presence? That sounds like _heaven_.

I turn and slowly pull Roy to me, and he comes completely willingly. I have to force myself to let go of his hand, but it's easier when I reassure the reluctant part of me that I'm only letting go to hold him more securely. I wrap both my arms around his waist, and lower my head. Not to kiss him, though I _really_ want to, but to rest my forehead against his. He's smiling, and _everything_ in me eases at the open happiness in his gaze.

"As long as I don't get called in, I'm yours," I promise.

I can send out messages, make sure nobody calls one of us in unless we're really needed. In the morning, or whenever I get a few moments to myself. Dick and Tim will make sure that I get some time to myself. They both understand wanting a couple days off now and then, and adding sex to that will make sure that they just laugh it off. Neither of them need to know that this is anything more than me wanting to spend a few days having as much sex as possible with someone attractive. They don't need to know that I'm also going to take the time to figure out exactly what I feel for Roy, and what I'm going to do about it.

Roy looks a little bit startled. "I— Really? I didn't think—" He gives a soft laugh, lighting up like I just offered him something precious. He's _breathtaking_. "Okay, alright. _Awesome_. Promise me one thing?"

I give a small nod, as much as I can without breaking the touch of our foreheads. "Name it."

"Promise me lounging and cuddles between rounds?"

My mouth curls in a grin that I can't start to control. "Yeah, I can do that." I draw back just enough that I can reach over and tug the door to the rest of the apartment closed — just habit more than anything else — and then tilt my head to kiss him. Slow, and with the reminder of what I want to do for him rising to the top of my mind. I lower both my hands to his shirt, undoing the buttons by touch as I stay in the kiss.

He presses closer to me with his lower half, one of his hands rising to grip my right bicep, and the other sliding through the hair at the base of my skull. I still get caught by surprise by the strength in his grip, the solidity of it, but I take it in stride. I finish the buttons, and pull his shirt out of where it's still sort of tucked into the waistband of his slacks. I sort of want to pull away and stare at him, to _devour_ the sight of his chest with my gaze and study the lines of his muscle and scars, but I hold back. I stay in the kiss, and push the shirt back over his shoulders. His hands leave me just long enough to wiggle his way out of the shirt — I can hear the faint sound of it crumpling against the ground — before sliding both hands around my back. His fingers trace the length of my spine, and he gives a soft groan into my mouth.

With his shirt out of the way I can move closer, press harder against him and pull him deeper into the kiss. I stop holding back, and fist one of my hands in his hair while I stroke the other up his back. "Roy," I murmur, in a breath between our lips. I don't know if it's a question, or some kind of statement of desire, or just a need to say his _name_ , but I don't give him any kind of a chance to respond.

Whatever it was, he makes a sound into my mouth, against my tongue, that sounds like it might be my name.

I _need_ him naked. I _need_ to be naked. _God_ , I have to make him feel even half as good as I do. I have to show him how amazing he is, how incredible, how generous, how unbelievably _perfect_. I still can't believe how lucky I am, and I don't think I'm ever going to believe it. Roy is _amazing_. I have to show him that, since I can't get the words out of my mouth. I don't think he knows just how incredible he is. How _incredible_ it is that he somehow wants me, all of my fucked up flaws and paranoias included.

I drag my hands back to myself, _somehow_ , and my fingers don't want to cooperate enough to get the buttons through their holes. I'm not used to wearing things with buttons, not more than one anyway. I give a small, frustrated noise, and then Roy's hands are over mine and his long, precise fingers are taking over. I can feel the shirt slip apart, like magic, and the second all the buttons are undone his hands are on my skin and stroking up and over my shoulders to push the fabric back.

I almost rip it off my arms, throwing it to the ground and not _caring_ where it ends up. Anything between me and touching Roy's skin is an obstacle that I don't want to even think about. I just want to touch him, and press up against him, and _feel_ him against me, so that's exactly what I do. I press him hard up against me, reestablishing my hand in his hair and the other looped around his back, and push one of my legs between his. He gasps into my mouth, squirms and grabs me just as hard. Both his hands are on my back, holding me tight enough that his nails are starting to dig into my skin, and I need him on a bed or at least a horizontal surface _right fucking now._

I let go only long enough to draw my leg back and grip him by his upper thighs. he makes a sharply startled noise when I lift him into the air and wrap his legs around my waist, but then gives an equally loud groan and drags blunt nails down my back. I turn, _barely_ willing to devote even a little attention to making sure I'm heading the right direction. But the bed is soft, and large, and whatever supplies Roy has they'll be over there, so I _force_ myself to give that bit of attention.

I bend my knees when I get there, laying Roy down on his back and gently disengaging his legs from around my waist so I can crawl after him. It means that our mouths part for a second, and I battle with the combating desires to open my eyes and stare at him, to _look_ at him, and to press back down against him and reclaim his mouth. A soft moan solves the problem for me, and I flick my eyes open to look at him. I brace my left hand against the bed, next to his head, and stare down at him as I struggle for a little bit of control. It's _hard_.

His head is arched back a bit, the line of his neck enticing and just _gorgeous_ , and his breath is coming slightly harder and faster than is normal. His hair is spread across the dark red sheets — they match the color of his costume, which nearly makes me snort — and it's a bright counterpoint to them, like the paleness of his skin. I can't help _staring_ , and tracing every single line of his body with my gaze until he grabs at my shoulder and gives a quiet groan.

" _Jesus_ , Jason, _please_. You can't just start something like that and then _stop_."

I yank my gaze up to his half-lidded eyes, and the bright warmth in my chest drowns out everything else for a moment. "Hush," I reprimand, softly. "Let me just look at you, Roy."

He watches for a second, and then gives a quiet laugh and wiggles pointedly. "You could at least take my pants off while you look," he says with a grin, sounding just a bit breathless. It's arousing enough that I can't do _anything_ but obey. Besides, getting him naked is getting one step closer to my goal.

My goal to have him on his back, be between his legs, and have my mouth around him.

It's not romantic. It's not _sweet_. It's not anything but sexual, and I _know_ that, but it means something to _me._ I haven't sucked somebody off since I died — being in that vulnerable of a position scares me sometimes, makes me paranoid — but I'm going to push through it. Roy is safe, and this is _miles_ easier than most of the other things that I could give him that really mean something. Roy wouldn't want a dominant role even if I thought I could give it to him, and I'm damn sure that's more than I can handle. Having somebody on top of me is something I can't do, not yet. Not unless they're riding me, and I have a solid grip that I could use to throw them off at a second's notice. Having my legs parted, and having someone else in me? I just _can't_.

But I can give him this.

I don't know if he's ever put together the pieces to figure out that it's something that unsettles me, or if he just thinks it's something I don't do, but I can answer whatever he thinks. I remember how; I remember a _hundred_ nights between Dick's legs, with his hands in my hair and his sounds burning their way into my ears as I worked. He was _incredible_ like that, and I wish I could bear to be on my knees for anyone anymore. But I can't, not without serious protection or nothing else happening. I've been on my knees for Dick since I died, but only a time or two, and never for more than something simple. Taking his gloves off with my teeth comes to mind, and even with something that simple I was uncomfortable, unnerved, and paranoid.

 _God_ , I wish my life had been easier. I wish the Jokester had never caught me that night. I wish I could stand to play the roles that I used to enjoy, that I used to _love_. I wish I could stand the feeling of being on my back underneath someone, or, even worse, on my stomach. I wish I could stand the feeling of being at someone's mercy in the way that I used to enjoy. Underneath Dick's nails and teeth while he fucked me, pressing me _hard_ into the mattress or wall and holding my arms behind me. I remember how _good_ it felt. But now…?

This is the best I can offer. At least for now.

I lean in to put my teeth against the line of his neck, _finally_ not restrained by the two of us being out in public. I make the mark front and center, just to the left of the center of his throat and about midway down his neck. His costume won't cover it; nothing but a turtleneck will cover it. I want the world to know he's _mine_. I want them to know that even if it was just for this tiny slice of time, Roy Harper was _mine_. Mine to kiss, and fuck, and _love_.

 _Fuck_ , how easy it is to let that word roll through my mind. How _right_ it feels.

I lower my free hand to his pants, as he gives a low moan and arches his throat up against my teeth. It's a bit of a struggle to get the button of his slacks undone — my fingers _still_ don't want to cooperate — but I manage it without even spitting out a swear _once_. I get the zipper down, and then have to drag myself away from his neck so I can actually get down to pulling his pants off, and getting his shoes off. I tug the fabric down his hips — just his pants, for now, and not his boxers as well — as I press a trail of kisses down his chest. He squirms again and arches up against me, his hands rising to grip my shoulders and dig his fingers into them. I let him, detouring to grab one of his nipples in between my teeth and roll it. _Gently_ , because Roy doesn't like pain like I do. I _can't_ hurt him and live with myself. Not like that.

He gives a sharp gasp and his hips buck up against my stomach, his thighs gripping tight at my sides for a moment before I can _feel_ him force himself to ease. It's one hell of a power trip, knowing that I can make him struggle like that. not as much as it is to watch Dick come undone, because Dick is _much_ better at control than Roy will ever be, but it's still one hell of a thing to enjoy. And Roy is so much more responsive, so much more _open_ , that it's hard not to love every second of what I can make him do. It's not the same kind of reward, but it's still _amazing_.

I continue my trail of kisses down his side, until I'm far enough down he has to let go of my shoulders and curl his fingers into the sheets instead. I can tell how hard he's struggling to stay mostly still, and it raises a sharp fire in my chest that burns bright and _strong_. _God_ , Roy trying to control himself, because of _me_ , is so _gorgeous_ ,. Every strained breath, and aborted buck, and deep moan or strained whimper, is a little piece of _heaven._ How did I get by without this in my life?

I place a slightly harder kiss at his hip, punctuating it with a nip of my teeth as I watch him to make sure I'm not pressing too hard, but all he does is gasp and give an upwards roll of his pelvis. I have to swallow down the urge to sink my teeth into the thin skin over the bone of his hip; leave a mark that will _really_ last.

" _Jason_ ," he says, and it sounds like he's _begging_. That's reinforced when it's almost immediately followed up with, " _Fuck_ , Jason. Supplies on the table; whatever you want; _please_."

I swallow, _hard_ , and bury my face against his hip for a moment to control myself. Then I drag his slacks farther down his thighs, and pull back far enough that I can then reach down and get his shoes the hell off of his feet. I fumble a bit, but it's not that long before I've discarded them to the floor, and follow it up with his socks. Then I drag his slacks down. The lack of contact with his skin is frustrating, for a moment, but once I drag them off his legs I lean in and secure my mouth against his inner thigh. Right at the edge of his boxers. He gives a loud _moan_ , and I grip just below his knees and strangle down an answering moan.

I manage to gather myself together enough to reach up and hook my fingers underneath the edge of his boxers, and then to drag them down his hips. His cock springs free, and I glance up to make sure that his throat is arched, and his head tilted away, before I study it with what I'm planning in mind. It's not thick or long enough to be a problem, not with the experience I remember having. It might be a little bit of a struggle at first, but I can take it slow. In fact, I _intend_ to take it slow. I have to, to remember that I know how to do this, that it's familiar, and that Roy is _safe_. I have to be careful, and slow, and make sure that I'm not going to freak out and harm him. I'm pretty sure that I can do this, but there would be no worse way to fuck this up than by having a panic attack in the middle of a blowjob.

Seriously, _fuck_ that.

I follow the drag of his boxers down his leg with my mouth, laying slightly rough kisses along his skin in the wake of my fingers and the fabric. All down his left leg, but he doesn't seem to mind if the slight trembling and strained gasps I can hear are any indication. Finally, eventually, I get them all the way down his legs and off of him. I take a moment to just stare.

Roy is _gorgeous_. Pale, with his hair spread like some kind of aura around his head and his fingers clenched in the streets. The shake of his muscles as he restrains himself, the arch of his throat, the _flush_ to his cheeks… _God_. I could stare at him all damn day.

I slide my hands up the inside of his thighs, parting them, and he yields so _easily_ it still stuns me for a second, even though I've done it maybe a hundred times before. I _know_ Roy's reactions, I know his turn ons, I know the way he looks when I do something just right, or the way he cries out and _begs_ when he's desperate for me to stop playing and really _fuck_ him, but I've never gotten used to any of it. Not ever. Every moment is still new and breathtaking. Every sound still makes my breath catch and my arousal ratchet higher. He's _amazing_ and I wish I could find a way to imprint that so deep in his skin that he'd understand it. I wish I could spell it out with my teeth, and my hands, and my tongue.

I lower my head so I can press a soft kiss to the left hollow of his hip, lingering there for a moment as I take in a deep breath and make sure that I'm alright enough to do what I have planned. The Pit is there — it's _always_ there — but it's buried far enough back in my head that it's not a problem. There's no tinge of fear or doubt to my thoughts, and no shakiness to my hands or flagging of my desire. I'm alright. I'm _past_ alright. I'll be okay.

Roy's neck is still arched back, he's still trembling just a little bit, and I choose not to tell him my plans. Instead, I adjust how I'm positioned, push his thighs a little wider and leave my hands holding them open, and dip my head to lick a stripe up the base of his cock.

" _Fuck!_ " Roy shouts, sounding shocked, and I watch as his head snaps forwards to look down at me. It's definitely surprise in his eyes, mixed with desire and a raw kind of _hunger_. "Jason?" he asks, as I consider the taste of my tongue and whether I can handle it.

I can.

I ignore his question, leaning in to catch the head of his cock in my mouth. I keep my eyes open, studying his reactions — it's been too long since I've done this, and I've _never_ done it to Roy — and cataloguing them in my head. He gives a strangled noise and an aborted upwards twist of his hips, his hands curling tighter in the sheets. One of them releases and grasps at the air, like he's going to grab my hair, before jerking upwards. The other follows shortly after, and I watch both of his hands reestablish his grip in the sheets above his head and safely away from me. His throat arches, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

"Jesus, _god_. Jason you don't have to—" I part my mouth and slide lower to cut him off. "Fuck! You _don't_ — _Jason_."

I draw back, analyzing the stronger taste and deciding that, like I remember, it's not so bad. I can deal with it in exchange for Roy's reactions, and I think I might even like it with a bit of exposure. I can get used to almost anything given enough time, or a big enough motivation. Roy is _always_ enough motivation.

"Do I _look_ like this is something I think I _have_ to do?" I point out, a little bit sharply.

Roy shakes his head, almost frantically, and I can see the muscles in his arms stand out as his hands clench. " _No_. Sorry; forget I said anything. I'm so not going to stop you. This is— _God_."

It can't be that amazing — I've barely touched him yet — so it has to be more of a mental thing than it is any kind of physical reaction. I'm not really sure what he had in his head, what explanation he made up for why I never returned this particular act — knowing Roy, it probably wasn't far off from the truth — but obviously this is something that he's thought about. Or fantasized about. Or maybe just straight out wished would happen. All I know for sure is that he's never brought it up to me, which means he probably thought — he'd be right — that it was one of my particular limits. Roy only ever doesn't ask about things that he thinks are related to my fears; he just accepts those things.

I don't think I'm ever going to get used to someone doing that either. Just accepting my issues, and not pushing and prying to find out _why_ , and how they can get around it. Just accepting _me_.

I trace my fingers across his thighs, just enough to make them shake and make him give a low groan, before I put pressure back on to hold them still and dip my head again. I close my eyes this time, to focus on the taste and weight of him against my tongue. The darkness, the _vulnerability_ of this, should scare the hell out of me, I'm _sure_ it should, but it just doesn't. Yes, my eyes are closed, but I can feel every twitch of motion through his thighs. _He's_ the one brought low by my touch, not the other way around, and Roy is _completely_ at my mercy. This… This isn't being vulnerable, it's being _powerful_.

I give a small sound of satisfaction, of realization, and it drags a gasp and a flex of muscle from Roy. I can feel him try and lift his hips, a bit, before he shuts it down, but my grip keeps him pinned to the bed. How the _hell_ did I think that this was weak, or vulnerable? I have the most delicate part of Roy in my mouth; one _second_ of anger and I could cripple him with nothing but a tightening of my jaw. The trust he's put in me _not_ to do that is fucking _staggering_. Especially me, and my really questionable sanity.

He's _definitely_ insane.

Loosening my jaw is easy, and flattening my tongue out is a matter of muscle memory. I angle my head the right way, swallow once to clear the extra saliva, and slide my way farther onto him. He gives a choked moan, thighs twisting against my grip. I push myself a little bit, testing to see if I still remember how to get him all the way inside my throat. With a sharp satisfaction, and a _really_ rewarding cry from above me, I find out that I do. It's not second nature anymore, not like it used to be when I was Talon, and Dick would pull me aside at any moment of my day for a round or two, but I can still manage it without my throat clenching like I'm going to choke.

I flick my eyes open to stare up along the line of Roy's torso, to his straining neck and the bulge of the muscle in his arms. I can't see his hands from this angle, but I imagine the knuckles are white and just as strained as the rest of his muscles. The idea that that's because of _me_ is enough to kill any and all lingering hesitation about this. Roy enjoys it, it's _not_ freaking me out, so what the hell is there to worry about? I can do this. I can enjoy this.

I close my eyes to get back into it, and let my focus narrow down. I don't need to watch him to feel his reactions, or to hear them. I don't have to be able to see the field of pale skin above me, or the way his stomach clenches, or the trembles shaking through his thighs. That's what touching him is for, and I can feel every single bit of it. The darkness behind my lids isn't even enough to make me panic, not with Roy's scent permeating the air, and his taste on my tongue, and his skin beneath my hands. That's more than enough to keep me grounded.

His sounds are reward enough for me anyway. the gasps, and moans, and the bitten off curses and pleas. Roy doesn't scream, but he can get loud, and he can get vocal. It's new to me — Dick can be loud sometimes, but not the way that Roy is — but I like it. I like every damn moment of it. Roy's not the most contained person, but _I'm_ still the reason he's losing what control he has. That's one hell of a shot of pride. It's also really fucking arousing.

With a bit of struggle I manage to keep my hands on his thighs instead of reaching down to palm at myself. To vent, I suck a little harder. The buck he gives in response almost catches me unaware, but it's not strong enough, and my reflexes are good enough, that I keep him held down through it. I'm stronger than he is, and I'm starting to ease right back into what I remember of doing this. I'm not the same, my body is _way_ different than it was back when I was Talon, but there's only so much difference that there can be. It's still my throat, my mouth, and my tongue. It's not like there's some fundamental difference that makes my experience null and void.

Roy is panting, between his sounds, and I can feel the heaving breaths all the way down into the muscles I'm directly touching. I shift my grip on his thighs to a slightly more sturdy one on his hips; one where I can really pin him down without having to consider how flexible he might be. Then I try out a few of my older tricks on him, the things that were guaranteed to make Dick laugh and rake his nails across my scalp in reward.

Obviously Roy's hands are safely above his head — that's good; I'm not sure how this would change if he were gripping my hair — but I do still get a breathless cry, and I can feel his back arch.

"Jason, _fuck_ , Jason." I give a hum of sound, and I can feel him strain against my pin but not get anywhere. A second cry echoes in the room, and I can feel the satisfaction burning hot and bright in my chest.

This, I can still do. At least with him.

I draw back, _slowly_ , until I slip off him with a pop of sound that's as obscene as I remember. Only then do I flick my eyes open and look up at him. His head is splayed sideways, and his green eyes are half lidded but aimed down at me, his mouth slightly parted. I meet his gaze, holding it, and he shudders and squeezes them shut for a second. Then his mouth curves in a shaky grin.

" _Jesus_ , Jason, I'm not going to last if you keep looking at me like that."

I lower my head a little bit, enough that I can mouth at the side of his cock and explore its particular unique taste and feel. "Like what?" I ask in a rumble of sound, keeping my gaze trained up at him.

He looks down for just a moment and then yanks his gaze back up and away. "From down there, and with that— _Fuck_ , with that kind of _hunger_. This is kinda a fantasy come true and I'd like to savor it but I _can't_ with you watching me." He shudders again, cock twitching next to my face and his hips straining upwards against my grip for a moment.

I give a huff of laughter, narrowing my eyes a little bit. _Well_ , if that's the case.

I pull back just enough that I can flick my tongue along the underside of his head, gathering the swell of precome and driving a grunt of sound from him. "If I'm not watching you," I say, letting my breath out directly onto him, "you're going to have to watch _me_ , Roy."

His eyes snap open, staring down at me with sharp surprise, and I raise an eyebrow. Pointedly, I flick my tongue out to follow the same path it did, and he makes a sound that's a bit like I just knocked the air out of him. Breathlessly, and with a _hunger_ in his eyes that's all consuming, he gives a nod. A shudder shakes his shoulders a second later, but his gaze stays trained down at me. I watch for just a moment, to be sure that it's going to stay that way, then I let him have the relief of not being in my crosshairs anymore. I push a little harder at his hips, _firmly_ holding him down, and close my eyes as I lean in.

I find him by touch, exploring the feeling of the head of his cock with my tongue and drawing it into my mouth for just a moment. Long enough to give a hard suck, and get a keened whine in response, before I pull back. I trail a pattern of open mouthed kisses and licks down the base of him, where I give one harder suck at his root, before reversing my path. When I get back to his head Roy is shivering underneath my touch, and I can feel his muscles flexing in a way that I know almost by heart now.

"Jason," he manages, sounding strained and out of breath.

"I know," I answer, against his skin. "Whenever you're ready, Roy."

I slip back onto him, taking a few seconds to just enjoy his taste and the weight of his head on my tongue, before I relax my jaw and take him deeper. This probably isn't something I should even be considering, but I just… It feels right, and I try not to ever go against my instincts. The idea of bringing Roy off deep inside my mouth, of feeling him throb and spill, of swallowing it, feels like something I want to do. So I'm going to.

I can feel his thighs rise and press in against my shoulders, shaking a little harder, and there's just a moment of discomfort but I shove it away. I'm so much more in control, one press of thighs isn't going to do anything. Not when Roy is at such a disadvantage, and his arms are still up above his head. I have all the power here; I'm _fine_.

Roy's thighs squeeze in, I can feel him arch a little even past my grip, and he cries out. I can feel the swell of him against my tongue, and muscle memory kicks in as I relax and swallow. There's not even a moment that it's anything but easy, and comfortable, and I can feel it as he gives the last spurt. I swallow it away, and linger for a moment — enough to feel the first bit of him starting to soften — before I draw away. Slowly, gently, and _very_ careful to keep my teeth to myself and my tongue flat and still. He still gives a sound that I can only classify as a whimper as I pull off.

His thighs fall open, back to the bed, and I open my eyes to look up at him.

Roy's eyes are closed, his arms loose but still above him, and his chest rising in shallow, fast breaths. I draw away, letting go of my pin, and in reaction he slowly drags his eyes open. He looks pretty hazed, but he does pull his right arm down and grope in my general direction with a slightly pleading sound. I reach up to take his grasping fingers, echoing the slight squeeze of them around my hand.

"Pants," he says, voice a low drawl, "then c'mere."

I smother most of the grin that wants to curl my mouth — it still twists my lips into something like a smirk — and gently tug my hand away from him so I can obey the request. I pull back far enough that I can quickly, and efficiently as I can manage, strip off my shoes, socks, pants, and boxers. I really don't care where they end up, I just know it's on the floor somewhere. Then I crawl up the bed and lie down next to Roy, lining myself up against his side. He turns in towards me with a grunt of effort, curling his right arm between our chests, and lowering his left arm to loop around my waist. I manage to get my left arm beneath his chest so I can circle it up and loosely tangle my fingers in his hair, and rest the fingers of my right hand on his hip.

I have to push away rising arousal, and an urge to shove Roy on his back and take what I want, when he wiggles a little closer to me and buries his face down beneath my chin, against my chest. It takes a few seconds, because a naked Roy Harper is a hell of a thing to have pressed against me when I'm already wound up, but I manage. I'm not pushing until he's not recovered; I _won't_.

What feels like finally, but I know is only about a minute later, he pulls back and then leans up into me. I tilt my head down to go along with his movement, and his lips brush over mine. Soft, he's loose and relaxed in my arms, and I have to swallow away whatever dangerous mix of emotion it is that tightens my throat for a moment. It only gets worse when Roy gives a quiet, satisfied hum of noise, and then purposefully pushes one thigh in against my groin.

"That was _amazing_ , Jaybird," he murmurs, with another brush of his lips. Suddenly, the urge to speak slams its way up my throat without any concern for it being appropriate. I _have_ to tell him. He has to _know_ what this means to me, how important he is, that this wasn't just me and my strange things but that it _means_ something. That it's— "You alright?" he asks, and my eyes snap open. He's watching me, the slightest bit of concern in his eyes, and when wariness keeps my mouth shut the hand at my low back gently strokes upwards. "Jason?"

I part my mouth, force a breath into my lungs, and contract the fingers I have on his hip. I have to struggle, and then to flick my gaze away from his face and down to something safer, like the line of his upper leg.

"I haven't…" The words, even though they all but _clawed_ their way up my throat, don't want to come those last few inches. It's an admission, it's dangerously important, but _fuck_ isn't that the point? He has to _know_.

Roy's fingers stroke along my back, and his head slips back beneath my chin and nudges it up. "It's alright, Jaybird," he says quietly, his head once again buried against my chest. "Whatever you want to say, it doesn't have to come out right now unless you want it to, and however long that takes is fine. I can wait."

My eyes close for a moment, my breath coming just a little easier at his acceptance of the fact that words, _important_ ones, are so damn hard for me. Him not looking at me, not _watching_ me, makes everything much easier too. If I'm not being studied I don't have to hide. I can concentrate on the words, and making them come out of my mouth, and not on having to guard my expression or my body language. I tighten my grip in his hair and duck my head against the top of his, taking in a deep, steadying breath.

"Roy," I start, my voice pitched low and just between us. Too quiet for anyone else to hear, even if they were in the room with us. "That… That's not something I've done since—" My throat tightens again, and I have to swallow again and shove the Pit's madness back into the corner of my mind that it belongs in. "Not since I died," I manage to finish. "I didn't— _Fuck_. I wanted to, it was good, I'm _alright_." I bury my nose a little further into his hair, and take another deep breath. "Needed you to know."

His hand stills against my back, and then the fingers of his other hand touch my chest and he gives a soft hum of sound. To me, it sounds comforting, but I have no _idea_ if that was the intention. "Jason, can I look at you?"

 _No_ , is my instant reaction, but I push it away and manage a small nod. I loosen my grip and let him slowly pull back, until his gaze finds mine. There's something in his eyes that I don't understand, that I don't think I _can_ understand. I'm not sure I want to either, not right now. It's not disgusted, or rejecting, or negative in any way that I can see, and I think that's as much as I need to know. I can take anything else, right? But Roy rejecting me would _hurt_ , more than I think I could deal with right now.

"That was the first time?" he asks, and I take the opportunity as I nod to lower my gaze away from his for a moment. Just long enough to stabilize as much as I can. "With me, or…?"

I shake my head, and meet his gaze. "Anyone," I admit. "You're safe." It tumbles out of my mouth before I can control it, and my fingers contract in his hair. It's too late, I've said it. _God_ , why not just take advantage? Why not say what I can, while I can manage it? "You're _so_ safe, Roy," I whisper, watching his eyes and trying to place the look in them. "Do you have any _idea_ what that means to me? How hard it is to be around _anyone_ after—" I close my eyes, lowering my head and tightening my fingers in his hair, against his hip. "You're _safe_ ," I repeat.

His lips touch my forehead, and he makes a quiet noise that's more obviously comforting than his last one. "I'm not enough of an arrogant ass to say that I understand what you've been through, Jaybird." His words are quiet, and apart from the slow rise and fall of his chest he's still against me. "But if I help, at all, I'm glad."

"Help?" I echo, as I pull back to meet his gaze. "Roy, I _trust_ you. I'm pretty fucked up, and I can't always control my reactions, but I _trust_ you. I just—" I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, nearly physically _feeling_ the fear starting to cut off all my words. "You've given me so many firsts tonight," I murmur, forcing myself to look at him again. "I just wanted to give you one of mine."

His eyes are wide and startled, but as I watch he relaxes. Roy's mouth curls in a slow smile, and then it's a grin, and then he's giving a bright laugh and pushing in towards me. He kisses me, not with passion but with _joy_ , and I can feel my breath catch and stutter in my chest at the _feeling_ in the press of his mouth. He's pushed up against me, and I can feel the curve of his mouth against mine, feel the grin.

Roy pulls back just an inch, as the fingers of his curled right arm flatten out against my chest. "Jaybird," he says, and his voice practically _glows_ , "you're _incredible_. I'm _honored_ that you think of me that way. Seriously, _thank you_."

Then he's kissing me again, and whatever words I was going to say fall by the wayside. I loosen my grip on him, and the touch of his skin, the press of his mouth, the _feeling_ of him, eases me out. I relax into the kiss, letting my world become nothing more than the feeling of him in my arms, of his joy, of the feeling burning in my chest that I can't even pretend to fight. I don't have any name for it but love, and that feels so _right_.

I love Roy. That's a fact, I know it now. I don't know how long I've loved him, or _how_ I'm still capable of that, but I do. _God_ , I do.

I let the rest of it slip away. All the worry, and the fear, and the nagging knowledge that it isn't going to last. Roy is here, he's in my arms, he's alive and _happy_ , and I'd be an idiot to let this moment pass without enjoying it. So I relax, gather him closer to me, and let the feeling in my chest burn bright enough to block everything else out. I let the love spread out through my body and take over every inch of my mind, and I can't help but give a low sound of appreciation, satisfaction, and _enjoyment_.

I have no idea how long we lay there, or how much time I lose while caught in the touch of his skin and mouth, and honestly I couldn't give a damn. His hand is warm on my low back, his hair is soft between my fingers, and the curve of his hip is a perfect place to curl my fingers and just _feel_ him. I wouldn't change anything about this moment, not ever. I could stay just like this, with Roy, for hours and not care. It's dangerous, it's probably foolish, and I don't _care_.

"Roy," I finally murmur, between our mouths. "I—" The words still stick in my throat, but it isn't as painful as I thought it might be to swallow them away. Telling him can wait. Or it can never happen at all. "Thank you," I say instead, and give one last parting brush of my lips to his before I pull away a few inches. "For everything."

"Of course," he answers instantly. "Whatever you want from me, Jaybird, I'm here."

I give a small nod, and open my eyes. His are still closed, and I just study his face until they finally open to meet my gaze. "For now," I start, "roll over and grab me the lube? I want to ease you open," heat sparks to life in his eyes, "but I want you close. Follow my lead?"

"Always, Jaybird," he says with a smile. "Though, you know, I think I remember us making a deal that I'd clean up a mess with my tongue."

 _Heat_ flashes down my spine and my grip tightens, before I force myself loose again. I swallow, bank the desire for later, and draw him into a shallow kiss. I end it with a graze of my teeth against his lower lip, and then gently tug his head back by my grip so I can press a softer kiss to the reddening mark just to the left of the center of his throat. The first of many, if I have anything to say about it. I want the whole world to know that Roy was mine for this slice of time, and I want to be able to look at the marks and remember what each one was like to make, how that patch of skin felt in my mouth.

A small shiver shakes my shoulders, and I make myself pull away. "We've got a few days to make that happen," I remind him. "Right now, I want to get you open so I can fuck you, Roy. For the first time. I've never been to your home before, so we've got a _lot_ of places to christen."

He gives a small groan, and then a laugh. "Oh yeah? Like where?"

I trace my fingers around his hip, and then dip them down his back and lower. "Well, there's this bed to start with," I say quietly, lowering my voice to a rumble. I find the tight ring of muscle by touch, and ghost my fingers over it before firming the touch. "Over the kitchen counter; it looked like the right height. That'll be hard and fast; maybe I'll hold your hands behind your back for leverage." He shudders, at some mix of my words and the sensation as I trace the edge of his entrance, occasionally dipping a finger in to press at it. "The couch out there, and at least one of the armchairs. You'll ride me in the chair; the couch could be whatever we're in the mood for." I push a little harder, breaching him with just the tip of one finger and feeling the flutter of muscle as he gives a shallow gasp.

"I want to spread a blanket out on the floor and fuck you in front of the fire," I tell him, and he _jerks_ for that one. "Slow, that time. Make you writhe and beg because it feels so _good_ , but it's not _enough_." I give a small groan, and a very shallow roll of my finger. No deeper, not yet, because anything more will be uncomfortable without lube to ease the way. "I haven't even had the time to see the rest of this place yet; I'm sure there's at _least_ a few more things." I lean in and get my teeth on his neck, dragging another mark to the surface of his skin. Then I raise my mouth up to speak directly in his ear, and say, "When we're done, I don't want there to be a single piece of furniture you can look at without thinking about what I did to you on or over it."

Roy arches, his fingers digging into the small of my back, and he gives a breathless laugh. " _Jesus_ , that sounds like one hell of a couple of days. We're going to have to scatter condoms all over the place, you know that right?"

"I'll carry one with me," I get out, even though I'm distracted by the line of his throat and by restraining myself from pushing my finger any deeper.

"You think either of us is going to get it together enough for _clothes_?" he says, with a gasp, as I find another spot lower on his neck, near his shoulder. "I think we'll be lucky to remember to put on anything for deliveries of _food_."

His skin darkens underneath my teeth enough for me to be satisfied, and I only pull back enough that I can press kisses over each of the small collection of marks on his throat. "We'll manage."

His leg rises, grazing along mine and then hooking over my upper thigh, and he strokes his hand hard up my back at the same time as he gives a moan. "God, I can't _wait_. Supplies are on the table; tour of the place can happen later and you can make a list."

I withdraw my hand and raise it to grip his hip again, rolling to push Roy onto his back and lean down over him. "You want a physical list?" I ask, to keep my mouth busy as I push my way between his legs and then glance up to find the mentioned supplies. "Could pin it to the fridge; cross places off once we've done them."

"I'm keeping it as a trophy," Roy announces, with a laugh. "Make little notations about position and anything special that happened."

"Will do." I pull him up into a kiss, feeling his thighs press in against my hips, and then break away before I can get too involved with it and get distracted from my goal. The lube. I still take a moment to nip at his bottom lip, and then to catch his gaze and add, "Let's get started."


End file.
